


The Long Road

by NamiSazanami



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: 10th Walker with a Twist, F/M, Gen, M/M, Not your typical Fellowship + Harry Story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-07-10 03:15:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 127,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19898953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NamiSazanami/pseuds/NamiSazanami
Summary: Ten years ago, just after the war had ended, everything was settling down, and the world was turning right side up again, Harry Potter disappeared. Hermione had lost all hope of seeing her friend, when who should show up uninvited to her wedding party but two beautiful strangers with an interesting tale to tell. What path did Harry take that led him so far away from the wizarding world? And now that he is back, is he here to stay?





	1. The Wedding

Hermione dropped down into her seat, discreetly fanning herself while applying a wandless Cooling Charm. It felt so hot in here; then again, dancing usually did that to you. She felt like she hadn't had a moment to sit down yet all day, and thinking back on the last several hours, she realised she was quite accurate in that assessment. This had to be the first time she had been able to take a rest since she had gotten up at the crack of dawn this morning to Ginny and Luna practically breaking down her door to help her get ready. 

“Is this seat taken, love?” 

Hermione looked up into a familiar freckled face that was just as flushed as hers, if not more. With a teasing smile she nodded to the redhead and allowed him to pull his chair closer to hers. 

“You danced wonderfully, Mr Weasley,” she complimented with her best teacher-tone, one which she had had much practise in of late since taking up the position of Transfiguration Professor. 

“Well,” he began, drawing out the word suggestively, and Hermione was sure she was about to hear just how much he liked her talking to him like that. But before he could finish his first utterance, Hermione was distracted by the sudden appearance of an old childhood friend, though she used the term ‘friend’ a bit loosely. Ron’s words were halted as the small blonde woman leaned forward and gave Hermione a hug, which Hermione politely returned, all the while gushing at what a beautiful bride Hermione made. 

If her mother hadn't forced the issue, Hermione wouldn't have invited Jodie at all, but Hermione’s mum had insisted that she have someone on the guest list besides themselves who was not a witch or wizard. Hermione had tried to point out that considering it was a magical wedding, she had very good reason for not inviting any other Muggles, but unfortunately her well-structured argument had fallen on deaf ears. 

“And that was such a gorgeous song, ‘Mione,” Jodie said, again, a bit too enthusiastically for Hermione’s tastes. Hermione smiled tightly. Old ‘friend’ or not, she should know by now that Hermione was not fond of nicknames at all. Only two people had ever been allowed to shorten her name and get away with it, and one of them happened to be the man, her husband, sitting right next to her. The other was not here. But Hermione couldn’t blame that on him really, seeing as he had been missing from the wizarding world, as well as the Muggle one, for the past ten years now. He was also part of the reason for why she and her husband had chosen that particular song for their opening dance. 

Being a Muggle, Jodie would be more familiar with it than any of the wizarding folk here, who rarely listened to anything so mundane from the other half of the world. But that didn't mean she knew the deeper meaning behind it, or what it meant to her and Ron. No one really knew outside of the couple. 

Hermione shot a knowing look to her husband, and replied, “Yes, it really is lovely.” Even Ron had choked up when Hermione had finally made him sit down and listen to the words. It reminded her of life after the war, life during the war, hunting for pieces of Voldemort’s soul, and dealing with things few grown wizards would have been prepared for, let alone three 17-year-old wizards-in-training. It reminded her of all they had lost, of how far they had come since then, and most importantly, it reminded her of Harry. Even though he had disappeared without a trace from their lives years ago. But Ron was still here with her and could share her loss. 

She still wished she knew what had happened to him, but his disappearance would likely remain a mystery ‘til their dying day. Even after years and years of searching beyond what was deemed healthy by any account, Hermione could only come to the conclusion that Harry was no longer anywhere on Earth. 

She smiled as Ron discreetly reached under the table and took her hand in his, brushing his thumb soothingly across the back of her hand. She didn’t know where she would be without him. Harry’s loss had been one too many at a time when they had all been so certain that the worst was over, making his the hardest loss to deal with of them all. 

So wrapped up in her musings, Hermione almost missed what her friend said next, amidst the blatant flattery and usual wedding praises and conversation. 

“And did you see that couple who came out to dance halfway through the song?” She smiled. “Probably not, you two were so wrapped up in each other. But… ”, she paused for a moment and her eyes glazed over as she stared out into space for a moment, lost in her recent memories. “They were exquisite. At first I thought they were just friends, two guys dancing for fun and all, but then – The way they moved…I don’t think anybody else can call what they’re doing dancing because that was real dancing there.

“I thought for sure they must be at the wrong party, even out of all these strangely dressed guests they’re by far the strangest, but I figured you must know them, they were staring right at you two practically the entire time.”

Hermione shot her friend a confused look. What in the world was she on about? 

“Look,” Jodie pointed to a couple on the other side of the room, standing apart from the crowd and watching the proceedings with polite interest. One was blond, about 182 cm, his waist-length hair was braided partially away from his face, elegantly so, and he was wearing a deep green and blue tunic cut to his form that looked like neither wizard nor Muggle wear, but it certainly fit him all the same. His partner was a tad shorter, but he held himself as though he didn’t notice the difference. Deep black hair, the same length as the blond’s, was done up in a similar style, also accenting his sharp features, the same as his partner. His light green and blue tunic was of similar make, but what caught Hermione as most startling was how well it highlighted his eyes. Even from across the room she could see the dazzling emerald colour. 

They were certainly nobody she knew, and for fairly good reason she doubted they were anyone from Ron’s side of the family. She would guess them to be someone’s plus one, but it was obvious that they were with each other. Though they weren’t touching, the way they stood so close together and exuded this obvious comfort just from being in each other’s company, not to mention that Jodie had mentioned she had seen them dancing intimately together, made it clear that they had come on their own. So who were they? 

As though summoned by her thoughts, as one, the couple turned to stare right at her. 

Locking gazes, she found that she couldn't look away even if she had wanted to. Something was telling her that she should know the brunette. But surely she would have remembered being acquainted with such a gorgeous man, right? 

After several seconds, maybe minutes, had passed, the brunette finally looked away, and Hermione thought she saw disappointment in his expression. Was he expecting her to recognise him as well? Hermione stared on, already tensing to stand up, when without even a word exchanged the couple suddenly turned away and headed towards the exit. 

No! Wait! 

Barely looking where she was going, Hermione vaulted from her seat and dashed across the hall as quickly as she could manage in her dress. She registered Ron and Jodie calling after her, but ignored them for the moment. She found that she needed to talk with the beautiful couple and find out who they were; it was like a strong compulsion was goading her forward, pushing her feet onwards. 

But by the time she reached the entrance to the outside, they were gone. 

The tent flap was slightly sticky in her hands as she lifted it up and slipped out into the night. She peered through the dark, hoping to catch a glimpse of the mysterious guests, and strained her ears for a snatch of sound that would alert her to their location.

Nothing. 

She walked on a bit further, ignoring the fact that her white robes were getting soaked at the hem; the Imperturbable Charm only covered the tent, and the grass she cautiously trekked across was outside its reach. Slowly, the sounds of celebration within the tent grew more and more muffled the farther away she walked until they were but a gentle whisper in the distance. And still she caught neither sight nor sound of the two strangers. 

You’re being silly, Hermione, she chastised herself. They are wizards, no doubt, of course they would have Apparated away by now. And yet, intuition kept her from dropping her search as a lost cause and going back in for another dance with her new husband. 

Instead, she steeled herself and took a deep breath, before calling out, somewhat desperately, “Is anywhere out here?” 

The chirping of the crickets was her only answer, followed by a brush of summer wind across her flushed face. She was beginning to feel stupid standing out there and yelling at seemingly nothing, when the sound of light footsteps on the grass caught her attention. She turned to see the blond man walking slowly towards her. 

“I believe a congratulations is in order to the lovely bride,” he said; his voice was smooth and cultured with a slight lilt to it that gave Hermione the impression that English wasn't his chosen tongue. 

Smiling, a little uncertainly, in thanks at the well wishes, Hermione felt a bit at a loss at what to say next. A stretch of silence passed, but the stranger did not seem unnerved by it in the least; he continued to stare politely at her with a waiting smile. 

“Do I know you?” She finally asked. “Or do you know the Weasleys?” 

The man seemed to find this funny and his smile widened as though sharing a private joke. “Only through tales, and many though they are, they do not do you justice, I see.” 

“You know of us?” Perhaps that wasn’t so odd; all of Wizarding Britain knew of the famous Golden Trio. It was an open secret that they three had been on a secret, dangerous mission out in the wilderness that final year of the war before coming to Hogwarts to defeat Voldemort once and for all. The fact that the details of their ‘mission’ were still unknown made it all the more juicier gossip, adding to their fame and acclaimed prowess. But Hermione had been sure that only guests, mainly friends and family, had known when and where the Weasley-Granger Wedding would take place tonight. And besides, this man didn’t seem like a reporter, or a zealous fan. 

“You two were quite frankly all that I heard about for quite a while. Your adventures throughout your wizarding schooling were intriguing, to say the least. And I consider myself lucky to have gotten a first-hand account,” he said lightly before a small frown marred his features. “Though it still pains me to think of what harsh trials you were forced through at such a young age.” The man shook his head. “I admire all three of you for your bravery and strength of heart, but more importantly the powerful bonds of friendship you forged as a result. Indeed, those are the most important things of all.” 

‘…Books and cleverness… There are more important things; friendship and bravery…’

Though it had been nearly 17 years since, Hermione could still hear her eleven year-old-self saying those words to Harry as though it were yesterday. But what did this stranger, who had yet to tell her his name even though he obviously knew who she was, have anything to do with that? He shouldn’t know these things; only she and Harry ever knew about that particular moment. 

Continuing in the wake of her silence, the man bowed his head solemnly to her and said, “I must thank you for your friendship most of all, though. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was your influence that made him into the amazing man he is today.” 

He didn't need to say who ‘he’ was; the man could only be referring to one person. 

“Harry.” Hermione’s voice caught in her throat, tears immediately springing to her eyes as her hands clutched at her chest. “You know Harry? Is he – do you – I mean –please, sir.” If he knew something, if Harry was still alive…

Legolas looked at her with compassion in his eyes, and she could see years and years of wisdom, knowledge, and understanding reflected within, well beyond his obviously young years. His eyes reminded her of Harry’s in a way. 

Slowly, he turned his head and called softly over his shoulder, “Tolo, mell nîn!” (Come, my dear) 

Hermione looked out into the dark behind the fair stranger, but she could see nothing. Where had his partner vanished off to without a sound? Did he know Harry as well? And what language had the man just spoken? What had he said? 

Suddenly realising the precarious situation she was in with two strangers whose intent was unknown, Hermione reached down to her waist, where she had stashed her wand among the folds of her wedding robes. Before she could decide what her next move would be, though, a second voice spoke up. 

“I’m here.” Suddenly the brunette from earlier was at his partner’s side, standing at ease as though he had been there all along; it was a little disconcerting. But more importantly, this close up and in the dim light spilling from the open tent behind them, Hermione realised what it was about those emerald eyes that had made her breath catch in her throat earlier. 

Those were Harry’s eyes. 

Stepping from behind the blond, the other man came to stand directly in front of Hermione. He looked at her unwaveringly for a moment before saying, “I know I don’t have an invitation, but I figured being the best friend, and all, I didn’t need one.” He gave her one of his roguish, lopsided grins, and then she knew beyond any doubt. 

“Harry?” Hermione breathed out weakly. 

Rightly interpreting her thoughts, Harry held out his arms for her to rush into with a force that would have bowled anyone else over. But not Harry. He caught her deftly and absorbed her weight, hugging her back just as fiercely as she squeezed him. 

“I missed you,” she breathed softly, crying uncontrollably into his shoulder. There was no possible way he could have heard her, but a moment later he responded, all the same. 

“I’ve missed you too. You have no idea.” 

Harry’s face was pressed into her crown as he held her close. Hermione could tell that he had certainly developed more muscle since she had last seen him. But none of that mattered at the moment as she felt so safe and calm enveloped in his strong hold. She just wanted to hold her best friend and never let go for fear that he would disappear from her sight again like he had ten years ago. 

“I didn’t mean to interrupt your wedding,” Harry finally said, his words slightly muffled by her hair. “I – I just wanted to see you again.” He swallowed and lessened his hold in order to look down at her properly, smiling a pained, sorrowful smile. “You look beautiful, Hermione, you really do.” He reached up and cupped her face in his palm before leaning forward and pressing a sweet kiss to her forehead. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hermione said with a small sniff, once she had been able to find her voice again. “This is the best wedding present I could ever possibly hope to get.” She laid her hands on both of his arms and pushed him away a bit so that she could take a proper look at him.

He looked so…different. 

Not sure how to ask exactly, she felt the words tumbling out of her mouth with the same intuitive sense of rightness as when she answered a question correctly, automatically, and without even thinking about it. “What are you?” 

“Always to the point, ‘Mione. Haven’t changed,” Harry said with a fond grin and a low chuckle. “To answer your question, though, I’m an elf. Not related in any way to house-elves, by the way,” he added offhandedly, obviously amused by her look of utter shock and confusion. 

After a pause, where he allowed the information to slowly sink in and her thoughts to rapidly categorise this new information with everything she had ever read about elves and human transformations, he asked, “Did you ever read Lord of the Rings as a child?” 

Hermione nodded. They had been one of her favourite collections as a little girl before she had known for a fact that magic was real and she was a witch. 

“Of course you have,” Harry muttered, looking away as he shook his head in what she identified as exasperation and slight anger, though mostly self-directed. “I knew you would have been a better pick than me.” 

“Harry, what are you talking about?” she demanded. This was all too confusing. “Where have you been? How can you be an elf? And what does Tolkien have anything to do with any of this?” 

“Everything,” Harry said as though he had just answered all her questions in one fell swoop. But before she could protest and ask any more, Harry turned to the side and beckoned his partner to step closer. “Hermione, meet my consort, Legolas Greenleaf, Prince of Mirkwood, from Middle Earth.”


	2. Crashing the Wedding

“Charmed, my Lady.” Legolas swept forward into a bow, with one hand across his chest. He then proceeded to take her hand in his own and lay his lips softly across her fingers. 

Hermione heard Harry chuckle in the background as she felt a blush rise in her cheeks. 

“Lûthui, lam celebren ernil nîn,” Harry said dryly with an amused smile and a shake of his head. And though Hermione had no idea what he had said, she assumed he was calling his husband out on his overly chivalrous behaviour. (Charming, my silver-tongued prince) 

But Hermione didn't mind, she was experiencing first-hand the courtly and cultured behaviour of the elves. She had just been kissed on the hand by Legolas Greenleaf, one of her most favourite characters in the trilogy, along with Aragorn and Lady Arwen, of course. She had always thought the fair lady terribly brave and courageous for choosing to give up her mortality for her one true love. 

With books as her most trusted companions growing up, Hermione was a deep romantic at heart. And despite their silliness at times, Hermione did truly love the elves. Upon coming to Hogwarts and learning about magic she had hoped that they might actually exist, only to be disappointed when she’d found absolutely no credible sources in the library to affirm their existence. But every story, even fictitious ones, come from some kernel of truth. And now, here was a real-live elf, right in front of her, smiling winningly at her, his hand still gently clasping hers.

Despite all the danger she’d faced head-on since becoming friends with Harry, and the fact that she considered herself to be a very down-to-earth, no nonsense woman, Hermione thought she might faint. 

“Oh,” she breathed, not sure exactly where her voice had gone off to at the moment, “My.” Harry was married to a male, a beautiful male elf of all things! And he was now an elf himself. Dear Merlin. 

Plenty of books disproved that this was even possible; dimensional travel, Tolkien-like elves, and even humans changing species! But this was Harry. And Harry wouldn't lie to her; in fact, they were both standing before her as living proof that it was all real. 

But how? 

She must have said that last thought aloud without realising it, still caught up in Legolas’ smile, taking in his stunning, fascinatingly exotic fey features. He was exactly like the books described him, and also nothing at all like the words had depicted. Fair hair, blue eyes, and being as tall as a tree only went so far; she couldn’t believe she didn't realise the moment she saw them that they weren’t human. It was so obvious even under the weak light of the crescent moon and the glow from the tent; how had she not seen it in the bright, glowing light against the stark cream canvas? 

“Well,” Harry began in answer to her accidently voiced question. As he spoke, he stepped up to take Hermione’s other hand in both of his and said, “It’s kind of a long story, and it is your wedding night, and Ron should probably –”

“Hermione, where are you?” At that moment, Ron came bursting out from the side of the tent looking slightly harassed. Belatedly, Hermione realised that she had left him to fend for himself against Jodie talking about two hot guys. She mentally blushed as she now realised that she was referring to Harry and his husband, who were still both holding her hands so gently, so gentlemanly. If she learnt nothing else about what happened to Harry these past ten years beyond turning into an elf, she at least knew that both his confidence and manners had improved significantly. 

“Why did you…leave?” He trailed off as he saw her, Harry, and Legolas standing so close. “Is everything okay? What's going on?” 

Not for the first time was Hermione grateful that Ron had gotten over his jealous phase. Talking to a jealous Ron was like talking to a wall, a very ugly, obstinate wall that wouldn’t go away. She was glad to say that some aspects of him had matured over the years. 

But as she stared at her husband, she realised she had actually completely lost her voice by now and had no clue what to say to him. 

Luckily, or so she hoped, Harry came to the rescue. Letting go of her hand, Harry moved to the side into Ron’s line of vision. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, staring at Ron a bit like he had stared at Hermione earlier, but in a slightly different way that only males could seem to understand. In a way, Hermione knew Harry would always see Ron like the brother he’d never had. The Weasleys would forever have a special place in his heart for making him feel like one of their own children. 

“Hey, Ron,” he said, finally getting hold of his voice. 

It was so surreal, she thought, having all three of them here together again. It was nothing like Hermione had ever imagined. But it didn’t matter, because right now she was willing to forget about the entire wedding party – her own wedding party – and go sneak off somewhere private where just the three of them, four she supposed, could talk and catch up. 

But first they needed to get Ron up to speed. 

A moment of tense silence passed, which seemed like an eternity but was in reality only a few seconds of Harry taking a steadying breath, before her friend continued. 

“Sorry I couldn't be the Best Man; we got here as soon as we could, which is probably still several years too late. I’m not actually sure how long it’s been here, but…” 

Hermione could see the exact moment when it clicked for Ron. From him staring at Harry like he thought he was mad to his eyes widening in wonder and his entire body staggering back as though hit from a physical blow. 

“Harry? Mate?” He licked his lips and started breathing heavily, a sure sign he was in shock. “That’s not – that can't be…” 

“It’s me,” Harry confirmed, “Much older and a little different, but still me.” Hermione watched his back as he took a tentative step forward, and then once Ron had regained his footing and moved forward a pace as well, Harry closed the distance between them and pulled him into a rough embrace. 

“It’s good to see you,” Harry said hoarsely, pounding him on the back as he knocked shoulders with his red-haired best mate. “Congratulations, by the way,” he said with a grin as he stood back, hand clasped on Ron’s shoulder, “You finally got the courage to ask her to marry you. I told you she’d say yes, years ago.” 

But the humorous moment went over Ron’s head as he was still gaping at Harry in shock. 

“Bloody hell, Harry,” he said croakily, “You look – you look like, like –”

“Pretty?” Harry grinned wryly with a raised brow. 

Well, Hermione wouldn’t have used quite that word, but yes, she would have to agree that both he and Legolas were pretty. Brilliantly gorgeous, more like, but pretty did suffice somewhat. 

“Something like that,” Ron said faintly, peering into Harry’s face as though checking to make sure it was really him. 

Harry shrugged, still smiling. “There was no getting out of it, all elves are basically gorgeous, supermodels. I was doomed to this fate the moment I decided I couldn’t be happy in life without that one,” he gestured flippantly back at Legolas, “at my side.” 

Slinging an arm around Ron’s shoulders, he dragged his friend over to where Hermione and Legolas still stood. 

“Ron, meet Legolas Greenleaf, my consort for the past 30 years or so.” With a sweeping motion, Harry gestured again to Legolas, who was instantly at his side. The blond elf reached over and grasped Ron’s forearm firmly in what Hermione recognised as a warrior’s greeting. 

And that’s when Harry’s words caught up with her. 

“30 years?” She choked on the words. What did he mean 30 years? 

Harry grimaced. “Guess I should have left that part out for later. That is, I mean, if you’ll give me a chance to explain.” 

Ron was slowly shaking his head and Hermione could tell that though Harry was still his best mate and he still trusted him with his life, and would no doubt agree to go on an adventure this very moment with him should Harry ask it of him, he still wasn't sure what to believe. And Hermione had to admit, it was all very overwhelming and confusing. Though mainly, she was just so glad to see Harry again that she was willing to overlook everything else if it meant he would stay. 

“I feel like I should punch you,” Ron said solemnly, looking at Harry, Legolas, and Hermione with a calculating expression. “Do you have any idea how worried we've been? Thinking you were dead? Not sure if we’d ever see you again?” As he spoke his face grew darker and darker with a mixture of sadness and anger. “Not knowing what had happened to you?” 

Harry winced at each accusation but maintained eye contact. Grimacing, he sighed heavily. “Well, for your sake, I hope you decide against it.” He took a step back from Ron and eyed him warily. “And in my defence, I didn’t choose to leave you in the first place. Nor was I given much choice or opportunity to come back.” 

“What do you mean? What happened? Why did you leave? Where did you go?” Hermione asked her questions in rapid succession, wanting to get them all out at once while Harry was still here in front of her. Reaching out, she took hold of his arm and squeezed. No matter what he looked like now or where he had been or who he was married to, it felt so good to have him here again. She wanted to demand that they leave right now, go back to her flat, and stay up late into the night and into the next day just talking and clearing the air.

But Harry had other ideas. 

Shaking his head, he put a hand over hers on his arm, and said, “This is your wedding night. You should go back in there, dance ‘til you can’t walk anymore, and have fun.” He nodded back in the direction of the tent. “This can wait; we,” he said, indicating Legolas at his side, “can wait.” 

“No,” Hermione said firmly, “I haven’t seen my best friend in ten years. You are going to sit down and talk with us, and you are going to do it now.” 

“Hermione, the guests,” Ron reminded, gesturing back to the tent as Harry had done. 

“I don’t care,” she shook her head, “Talk with Ginny, have her and Neville come up with an excuse, and then we’ll meet up at my flat.” 

Hermione looked around at the three men sternly, daring them to contradict her. If anything, she was the bride and this was her day; if she decided she wanted to spend time with Harry after seeing him for the first time in ten years, then that was exactly what she was going to do. 

She saw Legolas open his mouth and it looked like he was about to suggest an alternative, when suddenly his eyes quickly flicked to Harry with a look of sudden comprehension. He then swiftly closed his mouth again and nodded compliantly to her. 

Hermione filed that interaction away for question topics later, but for right now she wanted to see some action happening and her plan being put into motion. Sharply clapping her hands once in agitation at their stillness, she started shooing them forward with a clipped and impatient, “Come on.” 

Harry and Legolas were the first ones to spring to action. 

“I think I’ve an idea, then. Ron,” Harry said, turning to his friend with a sudden briskness, “You come with us and get Ginny or Neville’s attention as inconspicuously as possible and make sure they’re prepared to calm everyone down after we’ve left. Legolas and I will take care of the rest. Hermione, you stay out here and be ready to go when we all come out.” 

Harry looked around, hesitating for a moment. “You’re…you’re sure you want to do this?” he asked, shifting uncomfortably for the first time that night, reminding Hermione of her old friend, not this stunning elf, alive with confidence and power, with an equally beautiful blond elf as his consort. “I mean, Hermione, this is your wedding night, surely –”

“I’m sure,” Hermione cut him off before he could go any further. No, it was not ideal timing, but she had known long ago that she would move Heaven and Earth for Harry because his friendship meant the world to her. What was missing out on one’s wedding party compared to finally seeing your best friend in the world and getting the answers you’ve been searching for over the past ten years? 

Pointing back to the tent, she gave the silent message of ‘Go’ and all three men instantly complied. 

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Harry really wasn't too fond of being the reason and means of ending his best friends’ wedding night early, but he knew much better than to contradict Hermione once she’d set her mind to something. Any kind of argument would be a lost cause and a waste of breath. So instead of thinking of all the ways to persuade her to stay and enjoy her special night, Harry figured out a way to help his two friends make a clean and quick getaway. 

Walking to the centre of the dance stage, which was more than half full with couples and children enjoying themselves, Harry slowly turned on the spot with Legolas. He had only done this a handful of times before, but in a roomful of Second Borns he was fairly confident that they could pull it off without a hitch. 

“You know,” Legolas leaned forward to whisper in Harry’s ear; it was unnecessary given their sharp elvish hearing, but Harry appreciated the sensation behind the gesture all the same. He closed his eyes to concentrate on Legolas’ lips against the tip of his hypersensitive ear, “We caused quite a sensation just dancing together, can you imagine how much quicker we can be out of here if we do this,” whereupon Legolas proceeded to kiss Harry right on the mouth, slowly, languidly, and deeply. 

There were so many advantages to being an elf when it came to kissing. For one, elves were extremely aware of every part of their body, due in part to being so attuned to the world and Nature around them. That, of course, included their lips. 

Eventually the entire room came to a halt, mesmerised by the two. It was not, however, because they were in a room full of voyeurs who liked seeing two males kiss. When Harry would explain it to his friends later, he would say that it was something similar to the Veela Allure. Only, in Middle Earth it was known as Edhel-Lúthant. (Elf Enchanted)

They could have simply stood there and slowly release their innate magic until every head had turned their way, but kissing made it so much more enjoyable. 

The fact was that all elves were born with a magic of their own. It was an allure of sorts that could be used against the different races, though it was strongly cautioned against. For reasons generally unrealised by most elves, it caused more problems than good when other races perceived being tricked and coerced against their will. But it could also be used in harmless fun, like in situations such as this. When Harry broke from the kiss, he turned to see all eyes in the room on them; some glassed over and seemingly in a trance, others shocked, and some just looking on in eager, intent interest. 

Putting on his most charming, winning smile, Harry swept his arm out theatrically, needlessly calling the room to attention. “I’m afraid we've kidnapped the bride and groom a bit earlier than expected. Don’t worry, they will be well taken care of. They would like to apologise for their unexpectedly early retirement and thank everyone for coming out here tonight to celebrate this beautiful ceremony with them. But please, carry on. The bride and groom have expressed their wishes for everyone to continue enjoying themselves. Thank you.” And with a polite bow, Harry hurriedly pulled Legolas out of the tent, leaving quickly before anyone could come to and realise what had just happened. 

But just as they had made it outside, Harry felt a hand clamp on his arm, halting him in his steps. 

“Harry Potter, how dare you leave so quickly without even a proper hello or goodbye.” Following the hand up a long, thin arm was a pretty, young blonde woman with protruding glassy, silver-grey eyes.

“Luna.” Harry blinked in shock; he was surprised, she had come out of nowhere, and didn’t seem to be as affected by the enchantment as the rest of the guests. 

Though he had missed Ron and Hermione the most, he did remember and still cared for all of the friends he had left behind. He particularly missed Luna whenever he met a new and interesting creature on Middle Earth. Though the scarier wargs and giant spiders did tend to remind him of Hagrid more. 

Without preamble, she gave him a genuinely happy smile, though she hardly looked startled in the least by his appearance, neither in regard to his sudden arrival nor his new visage. Trust Luna to not only instantly recognise him, but also take it all in stride. As though seeing a long-lost friend turn up from nowhere, no longer human, breaking up his best friends’ wedding was a common, everyday occurrence. 

“It’s so good to see you again,” she said, “I can see the Korrigans haven’t done too much damage in kidnapping you.” She looked over him appraisingly. “In fact, you look quite good for being close to 70. Most wizards age much like Muggles do, but continue to live longer due to their magic. But I like your method much better.” Luna nodded approvingly. 

“Uh, thanks, Luna,” Harry said uncertainly. Even though he knew by now not to be surprised by her knowledge of imaginary creatures and blaming them for unexplained occurrences, it was scary sometimes the things she seemed to intuitively know. Like how had she guessed his age so well? “It’s good to see you again too.” Harry chuckled silently to himself, shaking his head and realising how much he really had missed her in his life. Then gesturing back to Legolas, who was still holding Harry’s other arm, he started introductions, not wanting to seem rude. “This is Legolas –”

“Your husband,” Luna finished for him. “A pleasure, sir,” she said politely, offering her hand to Legolas, who turned it in his own to kiss the back of it with a grin. 

“Pleasure’s all mine.” 

Though Luna didn’t blush like Hermione, her smile did widen at Legolas’ courtly attentions. 

“I can see why you’ve decided to make a home in another dimension, Harry. Quite smart of you, actually, though perhaps you should think of taking some moon frogs with you when you go back. They make awfully good pets once trained and would fit right at home with the other elves.” She nodded again, matter-of-factly, and smiled encouragingly at him, as though she knew she was stumping him by continuing to intimate at his secrets so accurately. Then again, that was also just the way she was; Harry doubted he would ever truly know. 

“I, er, will indeed take that into consideration,” Harry responded with a nod of his own, though he still didn’t know what a moon frog was.

“Well,” Luna reached up and planted a kiss on Harry’s cheek, “It’s good to see you’re happy, Harry, and it was lovely meeting you, Mr Legolas.” Then as abruptly as she’d come, she slipped back inside the bright lights and comforting warmth of the party. 

Several seconds ticked past in muted surprise and humour. 

“So that was Luna Lovegood, then?” Legolas asked in his native tongue, still blinking his eyes slightly at the bright yellow and pink colours of her dress, which had looked more like a cascading array of feathers than any dress Harry had ever seen, in either world. 

Harry nodded dumbly, an amused smile still on his face, absently thinking of moon frogs and where he could possibly find one. “That was Luna alright,” Harry responded in kind. 

Legolas made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, and then took Harry’s arm and guided him over to where both Ron and Hermione were waiting for him. 

Ron was looking at him in disbelief. “What did you do, mate? Just now, in the tent, with that-the kiss, or something?” 

“Yes, that was a kiss, Ron. I worry for Hermione’s sake if you’re still unsure about these things.” Harry of course knew what he meant, but he so did miss this friendly banter. 

“Your solution to our escape was a kiss?” Hermione asked dubiously, wondering if they were having her on. 

“Not just any kiss, Hermione,” Harry quipped, “But yes, more or less.” Seeing that he was only making them more and more frustrated, Harry decided to give them a break and said, “I’ll explain more when we get out of here. That is,” he paused, looking fondly, yet uncertainly at his friends, “if you haven’t changed your minds.” 

He almost hoped they had. This was their wedding night. He hadn’t intended on dragging them from their special day, nor interrupting their nightly plans. He had hoped to just be able to see them again and assure himself that they were okay. He hadn't planned on Hermione seeing him, letting alone chasing after him out of the party and recognising him. He knew he had changed a lot, both mentally and physically. He probably wouldn’t have been able to recognise himself if he were them. 

But Hermione was more than a friend to him, more than a sister even. And he could see in her eyes that she was ready to move mountains to keep him with her for the moment. And he couldn’t say, despite his initial plans on being the silent observer, that he felt all that differently. 

Instead of answering Harry’s ridiculous last attempt at swaying her decision, she reached out to him, and said, “Take my hand, Harry.” 

And then they were gone.


	3. From the Beginning Now

A hot beverage on a comfy sofa. It reminded Harry of holidays at the Burrow and hanging out with his friends in the Gryffindor Common Room on those cold, Scottish winter nights. It brought back memories of all the things he missed of his home on regular old Earth. 

Harry had even loved the simple act of helping make the tea with Ron while Hermione went to change into something more comfortable. Again, he felt a stab of guilt; Hermione wasn’t supposed to be taking her own dress off tonight. He and Legolas weren’t supposed to be intruding on the couple’s wedding night. If only Hermione would actually see it that way though. 

He didn’t know how he would make it up to them, Hermione in particular, but he would think of something. His poor timing really had the absolute worst results. 

Harry sighed as the lights came on in the kitchen, momentarily blinding him with their sudden brightness. It was late at night, close to midnight, and his senses were automatically on alert as a result. But as Harry’s eyes adjusted quickly, he took in the nice, homey atmosphere that made him smile. The random piles of books stacked on spare counter space along with pages of notes, quills, and a few Muggle pencils made it quite clear that this was indeed Hermione’s space. 

Her flat was in small, family neighbourhood, and Harry could feel the quietness in the atmosphere as he moved around the kitchen silently, not wanting to disturb the hush stillness that permeated the air. Voices were dropped to whispers between the two by unspoken agreement.

“So, what’s the plan for you two then?” Harry asked, curious that if this was Hermione’s flat, then where did Ron live? 

“Well, we’re going to honeymoon in the south of France where Hermione’s parents have a timeshare,” Ron replied, resting against the sink with his arms crossed loosely in front of his chest. “Then Hermione and I have a small house we’ve been saving up for in Hogsmeade. Which is perfect, with her taking the Transfiguration post and me still helping George set up shop in what was Zonko’s.” 

Harry raised his brows in question. 

“Yeah, last year George bought ‘em right out. Old man said it was time to retire anyway but didn’t want to be selling out to just anyone.” 

“What about the shop in Diagon?” 

“George’ll keep working out of there, stay with the main public. But he’s leaving the Hogsmeade shop to me to run.” 

Harry watched with a growing smile as the pride swelled in Ron’s voice and he seemed to grow in height several inches. 

“Congratulations, mate,” Harry said whole-heartedly, slapping him on the back. “How’s business been going?” 

Harry nodded as Ron recounted several major business deals he’d helped orchestrate, explained how he was helping George develop new products, and described the general goings-on of the shop. And though Ron complained about the paperwork and working the floor on quiet days, though it was more like quiet hours really, Harry could tell that Ron had finally found his worth. 

Somehow both Ron and Hermione had found their niche, figured out how they worked best together, and were finally living a life of their own. It pained Harry that he hadn’t been there to go through that journey with them. They had all matured and changed so much; none of them were the same people anymore. But Harry wouldn't waste time voicing his regrets, instead he counted himself lucky to have been able to come back and see the wedding of his two best friends at all. 

“So is that why you two waited for so long to get married? If I remember correctly,” Harry said with an exaggerated eye roll, “you were ready to propose right after we finished school.”

“Yeah, well,” Ron shrugged, and he suddenly seemed a bit uncomfortable, busying himself with throwing the teabags away and not looking at Harry, “Hermione was insistent that we have a place first, so we worked on saving up for a house, and well…”

Harry had a sinking feeling he knew what their other reason was that Ron was so hesitant to say out loud. 

“Part of the reason also was, well, we were hoping you’d come back eventually.” Ron looked up, his face shadowed and troubled. “You have no idea, mate. Hermione. She wouldn’t eat, sleep, nothing. She spent all her time looking up every book imaginable trying to find out what happened to you.” He shook his head like trying to rid his mind of the distressing memories. “It was – she was – I didn't know what to do,” he said desperately, reliving the chaotic time in his head. “We really missed you, Harry,” Ron mumbled quietly, almost too quietly for human hearing. 

But Harry heard. He hesitated for a moment as well. Even though he hadn’t left willingly, or even consciously, and would be telling his two friends everything in just a few minutes, that didn’t mean he felt any less remorseful for all the pain and worry he had put them through. Biting his lip and running his hands through his hair, an old habit he thought he’d stopped, Harry reached up and put a hand on Ron’s shoulder, squeezing in silent apology. 

After a moment, Ron looked over and smiled ruefully. “We should probably get back out there; our spouses will wonder what happened to us.”

“What you mean is,” Harry said, picking up two mugs in his hands, “that Hermione’ll get more impatient and come in here demanding what’s taking so long.” 

“Obviously.” 

Entering the small but cosy living room, Harry immediately made his way over to Legolas, who was looking a little unsure for anyone that knew him well. When they had first Apparated in, Harry had waved Legolas over to take a seat on the settee while he and Ron prepared the tea, but now he felt a bit bad for leaving Legolas on his own, even though Legolas had urged him to do just that; to take the time they had to catch up with his friends. 

Still, seeing Legolas sitting upright at the far end of his seat like he was holding audience in court was not what Harry had had in mind for his elf. Being cloistered in a small room in the middle of an industrialised city was a far cry from the natural wonders of Mirkwood and Middle Earth as a whole. Though so far, Harry would have to commend his husband greatly for adjusting so well so qiuckly. 

In any case, though, Harry was not inclined to spend the next several hours telling his story –their story – with an uncomfortable crick in his lower back, trying to hold up proper decorum. So after depositing their mugs on the previously laid coasters, Harry moved to sit down next to Legolas. And then quickly changed course at the last second, surprising his spouse by pushing Legolas roughly to the side with his body, until they were both sprawled out across the cushions, chuckling between playful grunts. 

‘Love, relax,’ Harry spoke teasingly through their connection, bumping shoulders with his husband and rolling his eyes as Legolas struggled to get up while shooting Harry a playful glare. ‘Let me sit back, then you can put your head in my lap.’ He moved to accommodate Legolas. ‘Let me play with your hair the way you like until it’s your turn to tell your part of the story. Come on.’ Harry nudged Legolas, manipulating him to where he wanted, even as Legolas continued to tense slightly in his hold. ‘It’s fine. We’re among friends here.’ 

Harry knew Legolas felt a bit like an outsider, despite how much he knew about Ron and Hermione from Harry’s many stories. But Harry wanted to make him as comfortable as possible. Ron and Hermione wouldn’t mind in the least, if their own positions at the moment were any indication. Hermione had returned in a comfy-looking pair of track pants and a simple white vest. Legs curled underneath her, she was leaning her entire body against Ron’s side, who had his arm around her shoulders, handing her a mug. 

Nodding towards the newlyweds, he silently added a ‘see?’ before gently but forcibly rearranging the two of them until they were sitting comfortably, ready for a long chat. 

‘You and your brute strength, pushing me around like that,’ Legolas retorted, flicking Harry under the chin from his position laying across the sofa, head in Harry’s lap. 

‘Shut it you, you know you like it.’ And to highlight his point, Harry stroked a hand softly through Legolas’ hair with expert skill come from years of practise. Immediately, Legolas’ eyes closed against their will and by the fourth push of his fingers through the fine golden locks, Harry would say he was asleep if he didn’t know better. 

Looking up, Harry noticed Hermione looking at him with an expression caught between suspicion and sweetness. 

“I didn’t know that you…you were,” she paused, seeming to be searching for the appropriate term as she bowed her head. She looked more confused than embarrassed, but still uncertain. 

Harry just shrugged, figuring he knew what she was getting at. “I know the wizarding world doesn’t expressly look down on same-sex relationships, but it’s not exactly common either, so I never thought about it. In Middle Earth, and with the Elves, it’s a bit… different. They don’t really differentiate in the same sense that humans do on Earth. 

“But to your point, some things were decided for Legolas and myself before we even knew what was going on. It’ll make more sense when we start. But really, before I had even realised it, Legolas was courting me for marriage in accordance with the Elvish Laws. And by the time I did find out I realised that I didn’t mind.” He grazed his hands slowly down Legolas’ scalp, tickling at the base of his neck with a circular stroke of his fingers. 

Without saying anything, Hermione let known her confused disbelief, scribed openly across her face. “But you had to have at least given thought to it before. You don’t just go from being straight to gay out of nowhere.” 

Harry sighed in resignation. Hermione was just too logical for her own good sometimes. Anything that went against her rigidly structured system of knowledge was inconceivable to her. It reminded him a bit of sixth year all over again and her aversion to his using the potions book of the Half-Blood Prince. He loved her dearly and she had never so much as strayed from his side through their friendship, but Harry couldn’t help but wonder what a trip to Middle Earth would do to the carefully constructed world in her head. 

“Hermione, I promise it will all make sense once you hear our story.” Harry shook his head, “All I can say is that your whole world view is about to be flipped on its head, and it’s up to you decide whether to cling on to what you believe and try to survive, or risk giving up all you know to acclimate. Sink or swim, you know,” he shrugged with an attempt at apathy, while mentally praying she would choose to go with the flow. “You either crawl in a hole and hide or continue to fight against the odds and find a way to deal with it. Actually,” he chuckled rather self-deprecatingly, “To be honest, it wasn’t all that different from being chucked into the wizarding world at age eleven with no information; no nothing. I guess you could say I had experience,” he said drolly. 

“But,” Hermione’s face was pinched in an expression of consternation, “but the books –”

“Were written for an English audience in this world,” Harry redirected. “There are some things that can’t be fully explained. The world of the elves, for example,” Harry paused to look down fondly at Legolas, who was looking up at him with a similar expression, “it’s another thing entirely. No one author could have adequately described that, even with a lifetime’s worth of knowledge.” 

At that, Hermione’s eyes began to gleam at the prospect of such a wealth of knowledge out there, virtually untapped. She looked down upon Legolas with a sudden hunger and intense fascination. 

“Hermione,” Harry sharply refocused her attention to himself, “I’m here to spend time my two best friends who I once thought I’d never see again, and to tell you what happened and why I disappeared. Please,” he entreated. As he spoke, Legolas moved up from his spot on Harry’s lap to sit next to him in a show of solidarity. 

“I just want to be with my friends,” Harry finished after a moment, leaving unsaid that he didn’t want to be the secret informant for the brainy, obsessive scholar who didn’t always see the tactical line of friendship when great knowledge was involved. 

Seeing her silent consent, admitting surrender with a sheepish, regretful smile, Harry nodded understandingly in return. “I’ve long come to learn that there is never only one way to do anything,” Harry said gently, and then took Legolas’ hand into his lap, seemingly without thought. “And the fact is, no matter how and why it came about, I love Legolas in ways I previously thought impossible.” Harry set his chin and looked and pointedly waited for her to take it all in. He didn’t want to continue until she had fully accepted them both. The majority of the shock was over from seeing them for the first time, now Hermione had to accept all the things that had changed Harry into who he was right now.

In the meantime, Harry busied himself with reaching for his drink. The tea that touched his lips had lost its warmth and needed to be heated up again. Gripping the cup in his hands, Harry executed his own brand of magic, a mixture of wizard and elvish, calling forth the element of fire and imbuing in it a spell to concentrate the heat and focus it solely on the liquid inside the mug. He proceeded to do the same with Legolas’ before handing it back to him, receiving a small smile in thanks for his thoughtfulness. 

“Well,” Hermione said at last, clearing her throat when she’d found her voice again. “I’m happy for you, for you both. You are very sweet together. And God knows you of all people deserve to finally be happy, Harry.” 

This was the caring, motherly, will-work-herself-to-the-bone-to-help-the-ones-she-loves Hermione. This was the friend Harry had missed so much. “Thanks,” Harry said after a moment, brushing shoulders lightly with Legolas. “We try.”

‘Though I’d hardly say it requires much effort,’ Legolas whispered sweetly in his mind. Harry looked over to acknowledge the words with a smile of agreement. It was true, and for all that Hermione and Ron loved each other, they would never be able to understand, because they were not immortal, because they were not elves, and did not have that same, innate connection that would last for all eternity. 

Hermione opened her mouth then and Harry had a suspicious feeling that she had caught on to their silent conversations and was about to ask about it. The glint of knowledge and curiosity was back in her eyes, but Harry knew that all the elf-related stuff would have to come later in the story, when he finally got around to telling it. So instead he picked up the conversation before it could digress again. 

“But we are sorry for crashing your wedding like this. Though it had been something I’d wanted to see, the Valar aren’t always the most tactful of beings, and their timing and placement could use some improvement,” he said, caught between sarcasm and regret. 

Hermione, ever the practical one, just shrugged and said, “At least we got the opening dance in.” She wriggled until she was situated even deeper in the soft cushions and pushed more comfortably into Ron’s side. “Now stop stalling,” she commanded. “You said something about a Valar? Who are they? What do they have to do with all this?” 

Good, it had worked. Now they were back on track and Legolas was safe from his dear friend in research-mode.

“Yes, well, as I found out later, it was the Valar who put all this into motion in the first place.” He took a deep breath, ready to begin. “Alright then. First of all, there was a war.”

Ron interrupted before he could continue. “We know that part already, mate, we were there, wha—”

“No,” Harry cut him off with a single, strong word. “You don't know. There was another war. In another world. One that I was brought forth into to help the side of the Light. Now stop talking and pay attention,” he added jokingly, shooting Ron a good-humoured glare for his interruption. 

“The Valar – a council of Merlin-like beings, I guess you could say – requested my assistance. Or rather, they took me right from the fields behind the Burrow, where I had been walking –”

“That’s right,” Hermione urged, “You had said you wanted some time alone, so none of us followed you and then later when we went to look for you…” Hermione stopped herself, her eyes glassing over suddenly, looking like she couldn’t go on. But Harry saw it clearly in her expression; if only she had insisted on going with him, if only they had gone looking for him sooner, if only he had not gone somewhere so isolated.

“There was nothing any of you could have done, Hermione,” Harry said, doing his best to cut off her self-effacing thoughts and allay her doubts. “They tugged me right out of this world in the blink of an eye and dropped me down into Middle Earth before I’d even realised what happened. It was dangerous, but they knew what they were doing and weren’t about to ask for anyone’s permission, least of all my own.

“But as it was, they couldn’t because they were breaking several of their own laws, in fact, by bringing me in. Forbidden cross-dimensional travel of a mortal, not staying neutral on the affairs of Middle Earth and directly interfering,” he listed off, tapping at his fingers as he went. But then he just waved it all away. “But I won’t go into the history of it all right now.” 

Harry could see that Hermione was warring with herself. On one hand, she would love for him to go into the history of Arda and discuss all the implications of Harry’s abduction by the powerful beings; and on the other, she was gnawing at the bit to finally find out what had happened to her friend. As she settled in her seat, again, and nodded at him to continue, Harry realised that the caring friend had won out once more. 

Smiling fondly at her, feeling inexplicably proud, Harry decided to help her out with her dilemma. “Perhaps I should just start from the beginning.” 

And at the three nods of agreement he got – Legolas seemed just as eager to get this story going along as Ron and Hermione did – Harry finally began his tale. 

…..  
…..

There was no nice white light calling to Harry or comforting him when he suddenly passed out in the middle of the fields behind the Burrow with no apparent cause.

It had been little more than a month’s time after the war had ended and Harry was taking a breather from the rest of the world for a moment. Just a moment to himself in the peace and quiet. He had been walking slowly through the tall stalks of grass, thinking how in less than two months’ time he would turn 18, an age he’d previously thought he would be dead before reaching. It was still a novel notion for him to not only be looking forward to a birthday, but also revelling in the fact that he had come back from the dead and was with his friends once again. 

He had passed his friends as no more than a ghost back in May when he’d trekked across Hogwarts’ grounds in his Invisibility Cloak into the Forbidden Forest. And now they were going to be planning a birthday party for him later this summer –something which would have been impossible if he’d stayed dead. It was still a lot to take in, melding his old life with his new, post-Voldemort one. There were times he didn’t even feel like he was truly present; the whole notion of what he’d been through just too surreal. It was this feeling that had him begging off a game of field Quidditch with Ginny and Ron just now to go take a walk by himself. Sometimes he liked being with his friends and just hanging out, other times he just wanted to be alone and hear nothing but the sound of his own breathing. 

Harry wasn't even aware of what exactly he’d been thinking at the time, but the next moment he had blacked out and fallen to the ground. After that it was rather unclear in his memory, as all he could recall was coming to lying atop an uneven expanse of rocks, sore and in pain.

Opening his eyes, he saw the rocky terrain stretched out for miles around him. Out in the far distance where the rock stopped was a line of trees shadowed by the approach of dusk. 

Harry’s first thought was that he was not at the Burrow any more.

As his mind acknowledged this piece of information, slowly more knowledge started to filter through. Not much, but enough to inform him that he was in a world known as Middle Earth – what a strange name to call a place – and that he had been sent here by some higher powers to aid the Peoples of Middle Earth in their quest to destroy an all-consuming evil. 

No by your leave or even asking whether he wanted another crack at being the hero to another nation, he was just picked up and plopped down – and on a hard stone, no less. Even Dumbledore had more sense of propriety than these so-called higher beings. 

Harry, curiously enough, felt a mixture of anger and resignation at the same time. Part of him lashed out at being taken from his friends again so soon after being given a second chance with them. Another part had already known that something like this was bound to happen to him sooner or later; it was just the way his life went. It was unclear what side of him was winning out yet, but his ruminations were cut short before he could decide. From just beyond his line of sight, he could hear the fast approach of a troop of people coming his way. 

Thinking quickly on his feet, Harry jumped up, brushed himself off, and rummaged around in his pockets for his wand. Thankfully it was just where he’d left it. 

Wanting to identify how many he was up against, Harry cast a Homenum Revelio charm. Only two life forms were revealed. 

There was definitely more than two in the group ahead, if the varying footfalls, rustling of clothes and packs, and distorted, hushed sounds of conversation were any indication. The only viable explanation that Harry could come up with was that there were more than humans in the group. Unfortunately, he didn’t know of any spells that identified all life forms; Hermione probably would. 

Damn, nothing was ever so straightforward and easy. Who knew what he was about to be up against? He just hoped that when these ‘higher beings’ were done with him –if he was still alive, that is – that they would at least have the decency to return him home to his friends. What was it with powerful beings using him for the Greater Good, anyway? Did he have some kind of stamp on his soul, permanently postmarked to Destiny, with the label ‘Up for grabs’, or something? 

Hermione’s voice echoed in his head, reminding him to stay calm down, as he took a deep, breath and worked on stabling his Occlumency barriers. Taking a fighting stance, wand at the ready, Harry braced himself for anything. He wished he had something to hide behind, that would be smarter, but it was just solid rock beneath his feet – not even anything he could use to poorly Transfigure into a shield or something. 

He waited tensely as the group continued to approach, wondering if he could attempt Conjuring a big rock or barrier of some kind. He doubted it. 

Several minutes later, a ragtag group came into view. 

He was right about the two men. There were two ragged looking men, one leading their group of eight, the other trudging towards the back just ahead of four curious-looking creatures. They were short, but stocky, neither children nor midgets, but something Harry had never seen before. His mind supplied the word ‘hobbit’, and Harry catalogued it for the moment as interference from the stupid beings that brought him here. 

Harry moved his gaze to the last two in the group. One individual was only slightly taller, but stockier than the hobbits, with a long red beard covering most of his face and chest. Harry guessed this one to be a dwarf – the foreign dictionary in the back of his head confirming that. The other…well, the last member of the group was certainly interesting. Harry would even venture to say that the young man caught his eye. A tall, blond… elf, his mind said, indeed the tallest member of the eight, walked alongside the dark-haired man leading the troop, and the two were several paces in front of the rest of their companions. 

Most of the company had their heads bowed down and seemed to be protesting even the act of walking, especially the four hobbits in the back of the group. Even from afar, Harry knew that look, that pitiful stance. The one where you know you must go on even though you’d rather lie down and give up right there. They were grieving. 

It was the elf, one of the few with his eyes set looking ahead, that caught sight of Harry first. Stopping short, he grabbed the other man’s arm and tugged. 

Harry listened intently as the man caught sight of Harry as well and softly asked the elf a question in a language Harry didn’t know. The elf responded in the same manner. 

“Stop,” the man commanded the rest of the group. Well, that was what Harry heard eventually. The language the leader spoke was different than the one he and the elf had shared, but no more intelligible to Harry at first. Owing to whatever ‘gifts’ the so-called higher beings had graced him with, though, Harry managed to filter the word and understand the second language being spoken, almost in a similar way he understood and spoke Parseltongue. 

Harry watched as the rest of the group caught up with their leader and stopped, all turning to stare warily at Harry, who stared back in kind. The providentially sent information in his mind told him what they were, not if they were friend or foe. Harry would have to rely on good old fashion instinct for that. 

“Well he’s not an orc,” Harry heard one of the hobbits say loudly to his companions; he was stout, blond-haired, and looked amiable enough. 

“No, Master Gamgee, he is not,” the elf replied absently, still staring intently at Harry. “He is a son of Man, but something does not seem right.” 

The leader looked at his friend inquisitively and seemed to be deferring to him for the moment. He asked something else in the language Harry did not understood, and the elf replied succinctly with a single syllable. 

The man then made a motion for the rest of the company to stay put. The dwarf and the other burgundy-haired man moved to crowd protectively around the hobbits, and the leader and the elf moved forward, weapons drawn, but pointed downward. 

Harry already had his wand drawn, and as he carried neither a sword like the man nor bow and arrow like the elf, there was little he could do but wait. Even if he fancied the idea of running, he knew he wouldn’t get very far. He would be willing to put down several galleons on the fact that the elf was a good shot. 

Eventually they were standing face to face, only a few feet apart, each eyeing the other with suspicion and distrust. 

Neither party spoke and for the moment they were at a standoff. Harry was used to these, though they weren’t all that frequent in the war. Usually it was you had a Dark Mark or you didn’t, and any other time you were constantly testing one another to make sure they were whom they said. Being with Ron and Hermione for the majority of the time ensured their identities, but everyone else was basically an unknown entity. 

The problem in this situation, however, was that he didn’t know these people at all. He barely understood the gist of which side was good and which was bad. All he knew from the sudden wealth of knowledge in his head was that he was here to help the Peoples of Middle Earth destroy some kind of evil abomination. So the sides had been drawn; he just didn’t know who was on which side, and which side he needed to get on. 

Finally, the man stepped forward, his grip on his sword tightening audibly as he assessed Harry’s stance, clothes, and lack of belongings with the eyes of a seasoned warrior. “Times are dark and trust is not easily won these days. You are alone in a desolate part of land known to be traversed only by orcs and darker creatures; that does not bode well for you, stranger. Tell us, and speak plainly, are you friend or foe to Saruman the White?” 

For some reason, Harry didn’t think the eloquence of the man’s language was for show alone. That in itself was intriguing. But the more pressing issue at hand was how to respond without knowing the other side’s allegiance first. Or even who this Saruman was. Above all else, he wanted to survive this encounter with all body parts intact. If they weren’t on the same side as him, he knew it would come to a fight. 

From just looking at them, Harry wouldn’t think they were evil. But like Sirius had told him years ago, ‘the world isn’t split into good people and Death Eaters’. Only, his mind supplied the word Nazgul and orcs instead of Death Eater this time. Now, the context was completely different, but the message was the same now as it was then. Just because they didn’t look evil, didn't mean that their motives were pure and in line with his own. 

Not knowing much about this world put him in a tight spot and Harry wondered what these ‘greater beings’ could possibly have been thinking when they landed him here. He glared at the two in front of him as though they were personally responsible for his predicament, and in a way, they partly were, as he would soon find out. 

As if in answer to his unspoken plea, Harry felt the solution forming clearly in his mind. Foreign words rose up involuntarily in his throat and spilled out from his lips. “I am a fighter for the Light sent by the Valar to aid in the war to destroy the One Ring.” He gripped his wand tighter, unsettled by the declaration he had just been forced to give. Not sure how the two would react, he was ready to attack at any minute, a spell already forming in his mouth. “Now tell me who you are.” 

Both elf and man had visibly jerked at Harry’s declaration and their eyes widened perceptibly. 

It would seem the name that had fallen compulsorily from Harry’s lips, the Valar, were well known here after all. But instead of having the two lower their weapons as Harry had hoped, it had only made them more wary of him. 

“How do we know you are who you claim to be?” The elf asked, his grip on his bow not lessening. “How do we know you are not a spy of the White Wizard Saruman?” 

Harry’s glare hardened. “You don’t, but I am out in the middle of nowhere with little way to defend myself,” he said, smudging the truth slightly, “and you outnumber me one to eight. You have the upper hand here, so you might as well identify yourselves.” 

“You first,” the elf said, jabbing the air with his bow. “What is your name?” 

It was weird to be asked that. Unless he was in disguise and purposefully trying to hide his identity, everyone in the wizarding world already knew who he was. 

“Fine,” he said, “My name is Harry. Your turn.” 

“How is it you have survived out here with no weapons or supplies?” The elf looked around with sharp eyes, most likely searching for any of Harry’s possessions lying around or perhaps a site where he’d made camp. 

Harry was getting tired of these people continuing to ask questions of him and not answering any of his in return. Yes, he was outnumbered, but that didn’t mean he was outmatched. 

“I believe I asked for your names first. I gave you mine, it’s only polite you do the same.” Harry’s calloused stare let them know that he wouldn’t be answering any more of their questions until he knew their names at least. 

The elf and man exchanged quick, calculating looks; it was clear they knew each other well and knew how to work together. They had that advantage on him, among others. 

“This is Legolas,” the man said, “and I go by Strider. Now answer the question, stranger. How did you come to be out here?” 

“I already told you, the Valar sent me, whether you believe me or not.” He was starting to question admitting that bit of information, but it wasn’t liked he’d really had any control over what he’d said. 

“And how is it that the Valar thought you could be of use in this war?” Legolas asked. The elf seemed wary at best now, not as hostile as before, and Harry could tell that he wanted to believe him. 

But Harry wasn’t sure how best to answer that question, seeing as he wasn’t quite sure himself. He had barely had time to orient himself in these foreign settings as it was. He didn’t really know why he specifically had been brought here. 

Although, from the fact that his two opponents were holding a sword and bow and arrow at him instead of a wand, he thought he might be able to take a guess. It was worth a shot, at least. 

Cheekily, Harry jerked his wand hand to draw their attention, and said one word, “Magic.”


	4. Meeting the Fellowship

Their reaction was immediate. The man hefted his sword in front of him and his face grew feral. The elf raised himself up as he pulled an arrow back even further and his entire figure tensed visibly. 

Harry grit his teeth. He had just rid himself of Death Eaters and a mad, semi-immortal snake-man, only to find himself threatened with an ordinary sword and bow and arrow. There had to be some sort of odd irony in this. 

Acting on the instincts that had gotten him through the war, time seemed to have stopped for a moment when Harry flicked his wand forward just as Strider was beginning to swing his sword down towards Harry’s head and Legolas was about to release his bow. Harry accompanied the wand movement with a silently cried, _Expelliarmus _, sending both their weapons flying from their hands and towards Harry.__

____

__

A bit surprised at how well it had worked, Harry caught the bow in his free hand, but let the arrow and sword clatter to the ground behind him, stepping back on the hilt for good measure. 

He heard several cries of surprise and fear from the rest of the company but chose to ignore them for the moment unless any of them decided to come and join their companions in their attack. 

“Look,” he said, wondering if it was even worth trying to make peace with this motley crew, who still had yet to tell him which side they were on. “It’s obvious you haven’t had good experiences with wizards.” _And maybe that was one of the reasons why I was brought here in in the first place, _he thought to himself, _which would give even more reason why I should have not only been asked but warned ahead of time as well. _“But _I’m _a good wizard. I’m here to _fight _against whatever evil you have in this world that needs defeating.”________

_____ _

_____ _

He huffed and flicked his wand again, putting _Leg Lockers _on the man and dwarf who had started making their way over here. They froze for a moment before falling forward in slow motion, right on their faces, arms flailing wildly, armour clanging loudly against the stone.__

____

____

In hindsight, seeing what a commotion it had caused, a _Petrificus Totalus _would have been better and more effective. Now he had four hobbits running around like chickens with their heads cut off. Trying to help the man and the dwarf up, the four tugged at their arms in vain as the two persons cursed continued to struggle and wriggle around, creating even more noise to reverberate around the once-silent plains.__

____

____

The two warriors before him had not moved, but their eyes darted worriedly towards their companions, and Harry saw both their hands already tensing towards their belts, where they no doubt had knives or some other smaller hand weapons hidden. He also noticed both warriors’ eyes dart worriedly to the sinking sun behind the line of trees and back to the outline of a mountain range in the distance, and then exchanged glances again. 

Harry guessed they feared being out in the open come nightfall. The first idea that came to Harry’s mind were werewolves, but as soon as that thought had come, he knew it was ridiculous. He thought back to the names that had floated into his head earlier –Nazgul, orcs; did they come out at night? It probably didn’t bode well for any of them that they were out in the open with no cover to be found anywhere. And in this case, it was most likely safe to say that the enemy of my enemy is my friend. 

Looking back over Legolas and Strider, Harry decided to use the shrinking daylight to his advantage. 

“Look,” he repeated, “I can easily give your weapons back to you, and have no qualms about doing so, as long as you don’t point them at me.” 

He still felt oddly nervous even though they were now weaponless and he was basically in control. It was a bad feeling in his gut that something else was coming and he didn’t want to be still standing here in a stalemate when it did finally make its appearance. 

“In any case,” Harry continued, not getting any response so far from the other two, “I am fighting for the Light side, or whatever you call it here. And that’s all you need to know. Now it is your turn to claim your allegiances. And I think you should do it quickly; I don’t know what’s out there, but I would think it’s at least safer in the woods,” he jerked his head back to indicate the thick line of trees in the near distance, “than out here in the open, right?” 

The two exchanged another set of glances before silently coming to an agreement. 

“If you give us back our weapons and promise to do our company no harm, we will bear you no ill will.”

Harry would normally predicate such a promise with a Wizard’s Oath, but seeing as neither of these two were wizards, a good old-fashioned English handshake would have to suffice. 

Making a show of slowly lowering and sliding his wand into his pocket – front, not back, lest he risk losing a buttock – he waited until the man and elf had relaxed their hands from their belts before reaching out his own towards them. Thankfully, their cultures were not so different that they were ill-versed in the purpose and procedure of a handshake. Stiff and uncertain, but strong and threatening, nonetheless. 

Strider’s handshake was firm and swift. It was similar to what Harry had once come to expect from Moody; another seasoned warrior who was rough around the edges, but still commanded the proper respect from those around him. 

Legolas’ hands were… well they were warm, was the first thing that came to Harry’s mind. How strange. It also struck Harry as odd that they were also exceedingly softer than Strider’s, almost unnaturally so for his grip was just as strong as his friend’s, if not stronger. It threatened to break Harry’s hand if Legolas squeezed just a bit tighter. 

Harry was no longer the scrawny, undernourished weakling he once was, but that didn’t mean he was yet fit to be an Auror much less whatever these two qualified as in this world. But Harry did his best not to let his discomfort show on his face. He wouldn’t admit defeat to any of these strangers. 

Harry handed over the bow to Legolas, and then summoned the sword and arrow in order to remain standing. He did not want to show the back of his neck to these two skilled warriors who could get the upper hand on him in an instant if he gave but an inch of leeway. The use of magic also served to remind them that even though he may look it, he wasn’t completely defenceless and still had an invisible weapon at his disposal: magic. 

“Well, now that that’s settled,” Harry tried for decisively cheery, hoping to not show any nervousness or complete confusion until he was alone and could properly vent at the unfairness of the world dead set against Harry, “Let’s get moving, shall we?” 

“Release our companions,” Strider said commandingly, like he didn’t expect to be disobeyed. But Harry had spent enough time around Moody and other hardened aurors to understand this to be a learnt tactic, an effective one in many cases to boot. 

Having no reason to keep the man and dwarf tied up any longer and wanting to get off this open rocky plain as soon as possible, Harry complied. He did not fancy finding out whether the riot they had created earlier had attracted any unnaturally ugly beasties and dark creatures

The three of them made no move to go and help the group, instead waiting for rest of the company to catch up with them. Aside from the heavy grumbling from the dwarf and the furious glares from the man, the message had been received that Harry meant them no harm for the moment. And so he was grudgingly, partially, accepted into their group for the next three and a half hours or so that it took to walk into the forest. 

The time was passed in relative, wary silence with Harry walking along the fringe of the group. Far enough away that they would have time to react if he made a wrong move, but close enough to keep an eye on him and be counted as one of their numbers. 

The sky was dark by the time they reached the trees, but luckily, they ran into no further trouble. However, Harry could have sworn he heard faraway sounds of grunting and scuttling armoured footsteps in the distance, from beyond the line of trees behind them. He mentally breathed a sigh of relief that he had gotten out of there in time. Hopefully the forest would continue to prove to be the safe haven they sought. 

Not one to tempt fate, though, Strider led the company another hour into the woodland. Eventually they set up camp in a relatively small clearing with good rock cover and a few trees that looked easy enough to climb. Harry soon found out that orcs were indeed the thing they currently feared an attack from, and most likely were the source of the noises he’d heard an hour ago. 

“And Aragorn says we won’t be safe until we get to the borders of –”

“Pippin!” One of the hobbits, a lad with a mop of strawberry blond curls covering his wide, pointy ears, shoved his friend who had been telling Harry about the threat of the orcs. His remonstration served in shutting Pippin up before the hobbit revealed their next destination. Harry fought down a smile. Obviously that information wasn't meant to be shared. Pippin must be the youngest in the group because he was by far the most open and welcoming to Harry, who most of the company had kept a good distance from. 

The lad, who Pippin identified indignantly as Merry, dragged his friend away from Harry and towards the other two hobbits to start a light supper, leaving Harry alone for the second time since he’d found himself in Middle Earth. Harry stood there for a moment, watching the company set down their packs and begin to work around each other, cooperating like a well-oiled machine. It was apparent that they’d been together long enough to know how to get things done quickly and efficiently. It was something he and Hermione especially had gotten particularly good at after Ron had left, and they’d had to rely on each other even more for survival. 

After a few moments of silently watching, Harry saw Strider and Legolas break from the group and make their way towards him. 

The mirth that had lightened the burden in his chest from talking to Pippin suddenly dropped like a rock down to the pit of his stomach as the two walked determinedly his way. Harry stood to meet the two, waiting. 

“I think we have a way to determine whether you speak the truth or not, stranger.” 

“I told you my name is Harry,” he said irritably, crossing his arms defiantly. He wouldn't allow himself to be threatened and belittled so easily. Talking briefly with the younger hobbit had lowered his guard a bit, but now at the cold tone of the elf he was back on high alert. So much for constant vigilance; Moody would be disappointed. 

Legolas ignored him. “If I were to say, _I hear the music of Ilúvatar that harkens from Alamaren…” ___

____

____

“Then I would reply that _I am a warrior on the Hierarchy of Spirits and have come to Arda, answering the Song. _Wha…”__

____

____

Harry lowered his eyes as he tried to work out where that had come from. Of all the odd things he had somehow automatically known about this world, those words that had just slipped past his lips without thought were by far the oddest. Though he wouldn’t admit it aloud, it scared him. Those words had held an innate power that he could feel in his magical core. And from the look of shock on Legolas’ face, he knew he wouldn’t be able to even begin to comprehend the repercussions of their meaning any time soon. 

_“Û! _That’s not possible... you can’t... you’re not....” Legolas was shaking his head, slowly backing away from Harry like he had some horrible disease. (No!)__

____

____

Strider was looking at his friend with just as much confusion as Harry, which gave Harry even more reason to worry at the elf’s odd behaviour. 

Following Legolas back a few paces, Strider tilted his head away from Harry and asked softly yet urgently, “Does he speak in falsehoods?” 

Legolas was still shaking his head, but whether in negation to Strider’s question or in denial of his own, Harry wasn’t sure, and it appeared Strider didn’t know either. 

“There is no way he could know that. It’s just not possible. Not possible,” he muttered to himself, seeming to refuse to look at Harry altogether. 

But it looked like, despite Legolas’ minor breakdown, that Strider had gotten his answer. Though Harry still didn’t understand the purpose of the odd questioning, Strider did, and it seemed he was pleased with Harry’s answer, even if Harry wasn’t. 

Strider strode forward, smiling in relief, and thrust out his hand for Harry to take, shaking it in a much more affable manner, saying firmly, “Welcome to the Fellowship, Harry. Good to have you with us.” 

Harry smiled weakly and accepted the invitation, figuring that he would find out what the Fellowship was later, and hopefully whether it had something to do with why he was here. Something about a ring needing destroying? After all, there had to be a reason for such an odd, hotchpotch group to come together and unite like this under one common goal. At least that was Harry’s thinking as he was formally introduced to each member of the Fellowship and gratefully accepted Sam’s extra blank for the night. He knew that only time and the slow build-up of trust would give him the answers he sought. 

…  
…

And you just joined the Fellowship of the Ring,” Hermione stated, disbelief and no small bit of envy etched across her face. “Just like that?” 

“I would hardly say it was just like ‘that’,” Harry argued in protest. “This one here,” Harry jerked his head unnecessarily to Legolas, whose hand was clasped with Harry’s between them, “certainly gave me a hard-enough time as it was.” 

Legolas largely ignored the jibe. “You can hardly blame me given your state of arrival and,” he paused to let his eyes graze quickly up and down Harry assessingly, from his face to torso and back, implying a silent message that did not even need to be voiced. “In any case, your manners were questionable, and you didn't appear altogether trustworthy.”

Harry responded with a playful disgusted glare and shake of his head. “You were just scared of being saddled with some scrawny, bespectacled kid with a dangerous stick in his hand. Admit it,” he demanded. 

“Never,” Legolas said loftily, turning his head away and lifting his nose into the air, though the affect was somewhat dimmed by the smile that flickered along the corners of his mouth when Harry lifted a finger to slowly trace up the side of Legolas’ exposed arm. “And you call that stick dangerous?” He added sceptically when it didn’t look like Harry would be letting up on his ‘abuse’. 

Harry just gave a weary eyeroll and poked him in the side teasingly. 

“You were just not to be trusted,” Legolas said seriously. “And besides, I’d been told to be wary of men with black hair; an obvious bad omen.” 

“Oh really?” Harry drawled incredulously. “And why is this the first time I’m hearing of it?”

“I didn’t want to hurt your feelings,” Legolas said softly, shaking his head sympathetically with a pained, put-upon grimace. 

“Oi! You two!” Snapping her fingers, Hermione called them back to attention just as Harry had opened his mouth to retort. “Back to the story, please. Why did Legolas not want to believe you, what were those weird words you both said, how did you know to say them, and how did you know all that stuff about Middle Earth like that?” 

“Hermione, breathe.” Harry laughed. “All good questions, as they were exactly the questions I wanted answered then.” 

When he didn’t continue right away, Ron shifted in his seat anxiously and leant forward. “So, what is it?” 

Harry smiled. “You’ll have to wait and find out.”

Hermione looked like she was ready to explode, gripping Ron’s thigh beneath her fingernails with a certain ferocity. “But those words, Harry. It was like you were speaking in some kind of code! How did Legolas know to ask that? Where did your answer come from? Even the language; how you just understood it and then were able to speak it too!” 

Harry huffed and let his head fall back on the sofa in exasperation. 

_‘There’s just no stopping her,’ _Harry mentally groaned to Legolas. _‘I should have put a Silencing Charm on her the moment she interrupted the first time.’___

_____ _

_____ _

_‘Yes, you’d think years of experience in friendship would have made you wiser. You’ll get no sympathy here,’ _Legolas replied with a smirk.__

____

____

“Alright,” Harry conceded to his friends, lifting his head exaggeratedly from the soft pillow. “Well the language and basic information about Middle Earth and its inhabitants was a gift from the Valar.” 

“But that thing about the Ilúvatar and a Hierarchy of Spirits, or something. That’s got to mean _something _,” Hermione pressed. “It almost sounded like a…”__

____

____

“Prophecy?” Harry finished for her. “It was.” Harry looked over at Legolas in defeat. Shrugging, he silently capitulated. _‘We might as well get it over with now. It will be impossible to continue the story with her champing at the bit like this. Once she gets set on something there’s no deterring her.’_

____

____

_‘Might be good to get it out of the way now; it gets too complicated later, as it is.’_

____

____

“Mmm,” Harry hummed thoughtfully in agreement, luckily Hermione didn’t comment this time on their silent exchange. They would get to the whole mind-chatting thing later in the game anyway. “So do you want to do the honours?” he asked Legolas. 

Both Hermione and Ron’s attention was immediately on Legolas. 

“As the Prince of Mirkwood, I –”

“Wait.” Ron held up his hand then and gaped. “You’re a prince? Like prince of the elves?” Ron blurted out, eyes comically widened and mouth hanging open. Harry had to bite back a laugh at the entire situation. It wasn't exactly Ron’s fault that Harry hadn’t introduced Legolas with his full title, nor was it his fault that he was born into a magical family and thus wouldn’t have even heard of _Lord of the Rings _and Legolas Greenleaf, Prince of Mirkwood, son of King Thranduil, and the last of the Sindarin Elves.__

____

____

Legolas just grinned sharing Harry’s amusement. “Yes, I am a prince, though not of all the elves. Just the elves of Mirkwood.” 

“Wait.” Ron pointed from Legolas to Harry and back again, his eyes flicking back and forth between the two. Harry could see the cogs turning in Ron’s head. He was actually surprised Hermione hadn’t worked this out faster and that Ron was the first to bring it up. 

Not ready to wait out Ron’s gradual processing, Hermione burst out, “Then that means Harry’s a prince too, right?” 

Legolas’ grin hitched higher, maintain his composure for the moment a tad better than Harry. “Yes, it does.” He turned his face to Harry again, his eyes softening considerably in affection. “A true prince of elves.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blatant reference to The Mummy there. What can I say?


	5. Into the Woods

Harry blushed under the adoring stare, ignoring for the moment his friends’ incessant questioning in the background, getting louder and louder as the seconds passed. He thought he had finally gotten used to that title, but telling his friends was a whole different story. This was where ‘complicated’ didn’t even begin to cover it. He was glad that Legolas was handling the story behind the prophecy because he just realised he needed to formulate the best way to explain this to his friends without another Hermione-induced stroke. 

Listening to Harry’s frantic thoughts, Legolas pursed his lips in a poorly hidden grin and cleared his throat to redirect their audience’s attention back to him. He held up his hand and politely asked for a moment. 

“All your questions will be answered soon if you will let us explain.” 

Two mouths snapped close in response and Hermione and Ron seemed to be holding their collective breaths waiting for Legolas to continue. 

“As Prince of Mirkwood, and one of the Edhel,” Legolas started, repeating his words from earlier, this time getting no protest, “there are certain... stories, songs, and knowledge passed down through the generations from father to son since the time of the Great Journey. These have been coveted greatly since before my grandfather Oropher was named lord of Greenwood the Great of Nor–

_‘Speak plainly, my love,’_ Harry reminded gently, _‘I know for certain Ron at least has no concept of Arda’s vast history and peoples. Pretend you’re talking to Pippin before the end of the war.’_

_____ _

____

Legolas paused and glared lightly at Harry’s joke. 

“You did it again,” Hermione cried out, pointing accusingly, yet triumphantly, at Harry and then Legolas. Apparently, she wasn’t to be distracted this time. “How are you doing that?" 

Harry pushed two fingers of his right hand against his temple, looking down with forced patience into his lap and concentrating on Legolas’ hand still in his other grip. “One thing at a time Hermione. I promise we’ll get to all your questions eventually. Prophecy first?” he posed it as a short question but didn’t give her time to answer as he urged Legolas to continue. 

“Though my ancestors didn’t make the journey across the sea to the Undying Lands, home to the Valar, we are still considered among the wisest of the elves. This essentially led to my grandfather being declared lord of what is now Greenwood, once Mirkwood, our home.” Legolas paused and checked both newlyweds’ faces for understanding. Seeing that they were following along well enough so far – though Ron had the same look he used to give Professor Binns, seeming to dismiss it as pointless history, and instead waiting for Legolas to skip ahead to the ‘good part’ – Legolas continued. 

“Though I cannot explain to you the ‘why’ or ‘how’,” he dipped his head apologetically, “there were certain... _prophecies _made that were known to a select few elves on Middle Earth so that we would be prepared to face any situation should it prove disastrous.__

__“The words I spoke to Harry were a summons of sorts, one that every member of the royal families learned when they come of age. They are backed up by an ancient magic that compels the recipient to respond in the only way they are capable.” He took a short breath, letting them take it all in before continuing. “Theoretically, Erisdîr could have responded in one of five ways, though I was only expecting one of two. One –”_ _

____

____

“Erisdîr?” Hermione interrupted, a deep scowl of confusion on her face. “Weren’t we talking about Harry,” she asked slowly, clearly putting together the pieces of a puzzle Harry wasn’t quite sure he was ready for her to solve yet. 

Legolas promptly clamped his mouth shut and grimaced guiltily. If he were a lesser elf, he would currently be blushing brighter than Ron’s hair, if Harry’s read on his emotions were any indication. 

Harry sighed. “For over a thousand years old, you sure put your foot in your mouth more often than most,” Harry said dryly, rolling his eyes to the heavens as he did, though he belied his words with a fond grin moments later. Pulling Legolas closer to his side with one arm, he laughed exasperatedly and laid a lingering kiss on the top of Legolas’ head. 

Legolas let himself be manhandled. _‘It’s ever so weird calling you Harry again. It feels so wrong to say,’_ Legolas grumbled petulantly, which coming from a one thousand and thirty-something year old elf was amusing to say the least. Harry was sure that if they were alone, he would see a pout forming on his love’s face.

____

____

“This is why Legolas is not the one telling the whole story,” Harry said jokingly. “He gets too caught up in the details as he goes on and loses the bigger picture. Mainly _not_ telling key information _until the right time_.” Harry turned to Legolas as he spoke in jest in a tone suggesting that he was instructing a small child on the basics of washing his face and hands. 

_____ _

_____ _

Turning back to his friends’ who were impatiently awaiting an explanation, Harry shrugged in defeat. “I haven’t been referred to as Harry since my mating with Legolas some 30 years ago, and more pertinently, since the ceremony that completed the prophecy and crossed me over into the world of the elves. From that moment on, I became Erisdîr.” 

Harry frowned, trying to think of the best way to describe this change of person and one’s entire being without getting too philosophical or slipping into Sindarin. He spoke somewhat hesitantly. “It was like an initiation rite, you could say, where you take a new name once you’ve passed the right tests.” He knew that wasn’t exactly doing it justice, but it was rather impossible to find a suitable equivalent in the Muggle or wizarding world. And like any initiation ceremony, the elven rituals had their secrets, things that Harry would never be able to tell his friends. So really, this was probably the closest he would be able to get to properly explaining it at all. 

______________“But for now, I’ll be Harry again,” he said, keeping his face open and honest. “So don’t think on it too much for right now.” After all, he would hardly say it was the most shocking piece of news they would hear yet. But that didn't make Hermione look any less upset.______________

_____ _

____

______________Harry thought wryly, her oldest friend who’s been missing for ten years shows up unexpectedly at their wedding as an elf and the thing she worries about most is that I’ve changed my name? Still, he could appreciate the sentiment and leant forward, reaching over the coffee table, to lay a hand on Hermione’s knee. “You’ll understand better when we get to that part of the story. I promise. Don’t make this more than it is,” he said, shaking his head in earnest._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Hermione took a deep breath. “I know. I do,” she said, turning to Ron who had tightened his hold around her shoulders. “It’s just,” she looked back at Harry, “you look different, your accent is different, you know so much about an entirely different _world _, and you’re suddenly married to a gorgeous elf who up until a few hours ago I thought was just a fictional character. If it wasn’t for your eyes...” she trailed off, not daring to finish that sentence. Instead she chose to look down and stare into her empty mug.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________An awkward, sombre silence descended over the group. Harry cast his mind for something to say to ease the tension, but he knew that everything Hermione had said was true. She had just used the same arguments that he himself had when deciding not to be seen by the couple at their wedding or reception, but to just watch and make sure they were okay. He had just wanted to know that they had moved on and were living their lives without him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Of course, they could all now see how well that plan had worked out. It seemed his eyes would forever be something special that stood out no matter what. And he couldn’t ever regret that._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________‘Your eyes put the Oiolairë trees to shame, and are brighter than the Star of Eärendil. They are what I look forward to waking up to every morning and dream about at night.’_ Legolas cupped Harry’s face in his hands and leant in to kiss both of Harry’s closed eyelids tenderly before doing the same to his mouth. _‘They are perfect.’_ ________________

____

____

____________________Harry smiled. He didn’t need to deny anything Legolas just said; if Legolas thought it was true then that was all that mattered to Harry._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________Watching the exchange, Hermione didn’t comment this time on the obvious silent communication taking place. Rather, she was the one to lean forward this time and place her hand over Harry’s, offering a quiet apology. “I’m just glad you’re here with us now so that we have the chance to get to know who you have become.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________Smiling in thanks, Harry flipped his hand to hold hers and laid his other one over Hermione’s, letting her know that he understood. That was why he was here telling his story. And he wouldn't leave until it was finished._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________Nodding, Hermione smiled bravely and drew back, gesturing for Legolas to continue._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________“Well, as I was saying,” Legolas began again fluidly as though there hadn’t been an interruption and he hadn’t just slipped and revealed too much information only moments ago. “The summons known only to the ruling families can have one of five responses, and only two seemed remotely possible in _Harry’s _case.” He hesitated for a moment, just long enough for Harry to notice, but they both ignored it. At Hermione’s silent urging, Legolas elaborated.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________“Either his answer would condemn him as a servant of the Dark Lord Morgoth or confirm that he was sent by Manwë and Varda to help aid in the fight against Sauron.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________“And if he _had_ been lying about the Valar,” Hermione asked, wanting to know all the possible scenarios that had been running through Legolas’ mind at the time. ___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________“Then he would not have been able to say anything, which would have proven his claim to having been sent by the Valar false and the Fellowship would have had the right to take him as our prisoner until we got to Lothlórien.” Legolas spun casually to look at Harry as he said the last part, his expression was smouldering as his gaze bore into Harry’s eyes; a threatening look that had Harry wishing to Eru for the first time since laying eyes on his friends that he and Legolas were well and truly alone._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________It took their combined willpower for Harry to break the stare and look down, and Legolas to turn back to Hermione and Ron and continue the story._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________Somewhat abruptly, though thankfully that just added to the effect of suspense, Legolas announced, “But Harry’s answer confirmed neither. Instead he gave something more of a sixth response, one that the elves had come to believe as more of an impossible legend than anything else.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________Hermione and Ron, who had clearly been missing all the strange occurrences that one took for granted being friends with Harry Potter, were leaning so far forward that Harry was sure they were going to fall off their seats at any minute and not even realise it._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________Not ignorant of his attentive audience, Legolas paused and lowered his voice for affect. “Harry’s answer declared him as the mythical Lone Warrior of the Aratar, personal fighter to the Exalted Ones among the Valar. And, intended betrothed to a leader of the elves.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________The resulting silence was deafening._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________Harry was pretty sure he could read their thoughts exactly, down to the last slow shake of their heads and disbelieving, widening eyes. _‘Only Harry.’ _____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________After the first nod, signalling that Hermione had absorbed everything up until that point, she asked, “But why were you so upset at that, you seemed almost angry?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________A grin that threatened to break into laughter fought on Legolas’ face._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________________________"Ah yes,’_ Legolas commented as though he had just recalled what Hermione said to be true. _‘How very stupid of me to ever have been against this,’_ he said, voice warming as he turned to look at Harry – his Erisdîr – with glowing eyes. ____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________________‘How very stupid,’_ Harry agreed drolly. _‘Pale, lanky kid with huge glasses waving around a sharp stick in his hand. That would be_ my _idea of the perfect mate any day. Don’t know what you were thinking.’_ ______________________________

____

____

_____________________________________‘Yes, I suppose it is a good thing you grew out of that.’ _Legolas nodded in agreement. _‘I do have standards to uphold, after all. Can’t have Middle Earth thinking just anyone can be mated to the wonderful Prince of Mirkwood.’_ ______________________________________

____

____

_________________________________________‘When did your brother get into this conversation?’_ Harry asked in confusion. ________________________________________

____

____

__"You’re doing it again,” Hermione’s annoyed tone brought them back to the present. Now she was the one who sounded like a child denied their favourite toy, knowing she wasn’t going to get any answers at the moment until Harry and Legolas were good and ready to give them._ _

__________________________________________Harry smiled widely like the Cheshire Cat. Despite the topic of conversation, the company and Legolas’ banter had him in a good mood and he couldn’t help but poke fun. “Yes, we are. It’s rather an unconscious act, so we’ll continue to do it quite a lot,” he said cheekily._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________________Legolas ribbed him not so subtly and returned his attention to the other couple in the room to finally address their question._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________________“What you have to know to understand all of this is that there are few among the Eldar who chose to remain in Middle Earth, the most notable leading the three largest elven domains –”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________________“Imlardis, Lothlórien, and Mirkwood,” Hermione immediately supplied as though she were back in class trying to impress a professor. Harry was sure her hand would be waving in the air if they weren’t both currently beneath her as she leant forward eagerly in her seat, with Ron just barely holding her back in place_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________________“Very good, Mrs Granger-Weasley; five points to Gryffindor,” Legolas intoned, which had both Ron and Harry guffawing loudly. Hermione glared mockingly, though she was hard pressed to keep the corners of her mouth from twitching upwards as her two friends slowly settled down._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________________“Now, the only elves from the ruling families that were not bonded,” Legolas carried on, “were those from Mirkwood and Imlardis. Namely, myself, my older brother, who led the contingent of warriors in Mirkwood, and the twins of Imlardis; Elladan and Elrohir. Twin terrors who did not leave each other’s side to stop hunting orcs, and who were barely past their grief over their mother’s passing into the Undying Lands._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________________“If the legends were to be believed, and it was astonishingly looking like they were, the available options for fulfilling the prophecy were few. And all male.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________________Harry made a point of looking directly at Legolas, turning his entire body towards his husband, and tilted his head innocently to the side, all the while keeping his face impassive and questioning. “Hmm,” he hummed curiously._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________________Legolas pointedly ignored him. “And to top it off,” he said with a smile, knowing that he’d correctly used at least one of the odd, idiomatic English phrases Harry had been teaching him, “he wasn’t an elf. I didn’t see how it was possible that the Valar would leave the fate of Middle Earth and the elven kingdoms in the hands of a mortal boy, magic or no.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________________“Mind you,” Harry butted in, “I never learnt any of this until much later, when there was no going back. Had I only known,” he said softly in a quiet tone, bemoaning all other possibilities lost. Legolas just rolled his eyes upwards and Harry found himself mysteriously, or mysteriously to Ron and Hermione’s point of views, splayed out on his side as though shoved into the sofa by an unseen force - Legolas._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________________“In any case,” Harry said, straightening out and throwing himself against the back of the sofa comfortably, familiarly pressing his entire side against Legolas’, “that was what was going on up until that point.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________________“So what happened next?” Hermione asked excitedly, hastily rearranging herself to prevent another near-fall and clutching Ron’s arm in both her hands._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________________Harry and Legolas shared a grin. Obviously neither of the newlyweds were getting tired any time soon, so Harry obliged._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________________...  
..._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________________The Company was rather subdued after the chaotic entity that was Harry had entered into their midst. But soon enough, they were on their way again. A little less hostile and eager to put distance between themselves and the new wizard, but just as circumspect in their movements and interactions with him as before._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________________In the end, it was Pippin who stuck to his side and tried to make Harry feel a part of the group. The little hobbit took no small amount of entertainment in Harry’s frustrating predicament of lacking proper clothing and his inexperience in being out in the wilderness. Harry was more woefully out of shape than he realised as he tried his best to keep up with the company’s harsh pace. The goal was to put as many orcs as far behind them as possible._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________________The only ones Harry had managed to keep pace with were Frodo and Sam, and only because Frodo was still recovering from an injury due to an encounter with a cave troll, no less. And Sam, he quickly learned, was never far from Frodo’s side._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________________And the bugs! Merlin, biting bugs too! He understood now the purpose of the thick, dark clothing most of the company wore. In his maroon T-shirt and patched jeans, he felt he might as well be naked walking around here._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________________His arms and legs were covered in itchy welts and red lines from both the pests and from passing through so many sticker bushes. It took him a whole day, surprisingly, before his magic kicked in and Harry was able to adapt an _Impervious Charm _to work across his skin. Though that didn't completely protect him from all the wayward branches that continued to paint his arms in crisscrossing patterns. But it was better than nothing.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________________________Not so amusedly to Harry, the young wizard’s entire situation seemed to provide constant humour to the hobbit. Though truth be told, it was nice to have some form of comic relief while Harry incessantly fought against the urge to rip his hair out and shout ‘I quit’ to the heavens. Even if the source of the humour was himself, at least Pippin could help make him laugh every now and then._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________________________Along the path, Harry had learnt that magic was not something completely foreign to the travellers – though Harry’s magic was of a different kind that they’d never seen before. It was on the third day that conversation had grown sombre when he asked his newest friend what had happened in the Mines of Moria. It was then he learned that several days before crossing paths with Harry, they had apparently lost Gandalf the Grey, the wizard in their original group of Nine, to a fire demon of old, a _balrog _. It was this that Harry mainly attributed to his less-than-warm welcome, as the weight of loss still hung darkly with them.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________________________But unlike the silence that was the reaction of most of the company, Pippin seemed almost fearful when Harry brought it up. And it wasn’t just with grief, Harry could tell. There was something about Pippin’s entire demeanour that reminded Harry of himself after Sirius’ death in the Department of Mysteries. Guilt mixed with sadness was a horrible burden to bear._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________________________Harry laid an arm on the small shoulder and pressed down comfortingly. He had only to wait but a few moments before Pippin confessed what was bothering him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________________________“It was my fault,” he whispered, face turned from his compatriots and crumbling in a deep, guilt-ridden sorrow. “In the Chamber of Mazarbul, it was my foolishness that called the orcs and alerted the enemy to our presence. We would have made it out safely and Gandalf would still be alive if I had just stood still. But instead I had to drop that stone in the mine and see how far down it went. I should have left it alone,” Pippin moaned. Tears were streaming quietly down his face, and Harry squeezed his shoulder again in reassurance._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________________________Though Harry was sure there were parts of the story that he was missing, he was pretty sure he got the gist. He couldn’t say for certain how much Pippin was at fault, but he found it hard to believe that a small clumsy mistake from Pippin had been the sole cause of the death of a wizard as great as Dumbledore - from what he had come to understand thus far. From experience, Harry knew that powerful people like Dumbledore, Gandalf, and even Voldemort did more to cause their own fate than anything one single person could have done. Harry told Pippin as much. “We all make mistakes, some bigger than others, but all have consequences we can't always foresee, some are just worse than others._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________________________“I’m sure Gandalf knew exactly what evils you would be stirring by going that way,” just like Dumbledore had known when he had taken Harry down with him to retrieve the locket. “And he _chose _to sacrifice himself to save you. Do you think he would have chosen differently given the chance?” Harry asked kindly, already knowing the answer. They might as well have been talking about the same wizard, as far as Harry was concerned.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________________________________Pippin shook his head slowly, and then started as Merry came up from the side and slung his arm around Pippin’s shoulders, adding his thoughts clearly on the matter. “Never, Pip. It was only a matter of time before we were found. Gandalf knew that. He didn’t blame you, and you shouldn’t either,” Merry said gravely as he stared Pippin in the eye._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________________________________Harry moved away then, leaving the two friends to their privacy. As he did so, he realised that even his own heart felt a little lighter than before. Looking around, he soon found himself walking near Gimli and Boromir, who were deep in discussion together. The two hadn’t fully forgiven Harry for tying them up with magic like two hogs ready for the spit, but their favoured method of grudgingly dealing with him in deference to Strider, or as Harry was now allowed to call him, Aragorn, was by largely ignoring Harry and pretending like he didn’t exist. More than used to such treatment, Harry stayed out of their way and chose to listen silently as they argued about the Fellowship’s next destination._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________________________________“We should try to get back on the Road as soon as possible. Obviously taking the longer routes have not worked in our favour,” Boromir, son of the Steward of Gondor – a sensitive topic, Harry had quickly surmised – was grouching to Gimli, slightly bent over to the side for his little tête-á-tête with the dwarf._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________________________________“I agree,” Gimli grumbled, burrowing his chin deeper into his cloak and gripping his axe tightly in his hands in front of him, “the mines were not safe, what makes Aragorn think we’ll survive the cursed forest?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________________________________It seemed as though they had lost the orcs, but everyone was still on their guard and fearing for the worst. Harry didn't know much about their next destination, other than that they were following the River Silverlode towards the Golden Woods of Lothlórien, neither of those names ringing any bells for him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________________________________Boromir nodded grimly. “I hear tell of a dangerously powerful witch that rules these woods. It is said she can put you under a spell with the very sound of her voice. None escape from her grasp, for none who walk through these woods have ever come back alive to tell the tale.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________________________________Knowing much more about magic and witches and wizards than anyone else in the company, Harry surmised, he guessed Boromir wasn’t all that off. Some of the best spells were the silent, subtle ones, after all. He would just have to keep alert, practise constant vigilance, and not let any elven witch get the best of him. Though, if he were to be honest, it sounded like a load of superstition to him anyway._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________________________________“The woods of Lothlórien are indeed powerful,” Legolas spoke up softly from the front of the line, turning from Aragorn’s side to look back at Gimli and Boromir. “There is a secret power among these trees that holds evil from the land. No orcs can pass its boundaries, no evil can step foot beneath the beautiful _mellyrn _.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________________________“Nevertheless, its folks are seldom seen, not since the world turned grey and evil was awoken in the mountains. Yet the Elves of Mirkwood still have many tales to tell of the wonders of the great city in the heart of Lórien of the Blossom. Maybe its peoples now dwell deep in the woods and far from the northern border, but I have no doubt that our presence will not go unnoticed for long. We will meet the Elves of Lothlórien yet.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________________________Aragorn nodded and grinned at Legolas’ side. Anyone could sense the elf’s building excitement; which Harry was grateful for as it at least diverted the elf’s attention from himself. As far as Harry could tell from the three days of walking with the company, Legolas was stoutly ignoring him. And Harry was getting the distinct impression that the elf was disgusted with him of all things. He knew the feeling all too well from Snape, the Dursleys, Malfoy - the list went on and on - and though the elf was more subtle about it, being in the front of the company and Harry sticking to the back, it was rather obvious._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________________________But now Legolas was walking with a renewed bounce in his step and looked like he could not reach their destination fast enough._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________________________“Legolas is right, the woods of Lothlórien and the elves that keep it are powerful and mysterious, but we should have nothing to fear,” Aragorn assured the group in the same calm and commanding voice Harry had gotten to know well the past few days. It was clear to Harry why Aragorn was now leader after Gandalf’s fall. “The only evil in Lothlórien is that which a person brings with them.” He glanced fleetingly at Frodo, but otherwise kept his face impassive and relaxed. “Be of stout heart and mind and we shall pass through these woods unscathed.” With a smile, he turned back to face the front again, his entire body on alert for the slightest hint of trouble coming their way._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________________________Harry could tell that Gimli and Boromir were not entirely placated by Aragorn’s words, but chose to keep their comments to themselves for the time being. Harry himself wasn’t sure what to believe, but even with the Horcrux in his head gone, it didn’t seem like a place Harry would be welcome. It also didn’t look like Harry would have any choice in the matter, unless he chose to abandon the company right here, which seemed like an altogether bad idea no matter which way he looked at it._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________________________Eventually, the sun started to set, and Aragorn called them to stop for the day. They made camp underneath the overarching roots of an old beech tree. For the fourth night in a row, Harry found himself fidgeting restlessly in his sleep, too tired to stay awake a moment longer, yet unable to find peace in rest as moss beds and hard roots were a far cry from a good mattress and pillow._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________________________Not for the first time, Harry wondered why he was here, what was going on, and when he was going to find out. His mind was restless, even in sleep, and his dreams consisted brokenly of the chaotic state of the Burrow in the wake of his disappearance, scenes of him skipping rocks on the Black Lake with Ron and Hermione at the beginning of fourth year – before the whole Goblet of Fire debacle – and strange echoings in his head of the weird words Legolas had said and evoked from him his first night with the Fellowship._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________________________Harry woke up the next morning at Aragorn’s urging that they get a move on as quickly as possible. He felt as tired as when he’d gone to sleep not even four hours earlier. Just as exhausted, just as confused and uninformed, and all that much closer to the strange unknown that was the Woods of Lothlórien._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I take several direct quotes from the book, but overall this will soon become a very different storyline from both the books and movies.


	6. The Voice of Nimrodel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. And if you haven't already figured it out, this story is on Fanfiction as well with a few more chapters. However this is the place I will be posting cleaned up chapters. No major changes, but I will be getting rid of the clunky wording, run-on sentences, small inconsistencies, and adding the odd description and sentence here or there; that sort of thing. Once that's done, I will get back to updating the story with new chapters and post on both sites equally. Just so you know! 
> 
> Happy reading! :)

The following day brought the Company, plus Harry, deeper into the wildwoods. 

Harry took in his surroundings as he walked, his steps matching the steady rhythm set by his companions without conscious thought. It was a miracle he could focus on much at all. Having found himself constantly busy with swatting away midges and trying to find the perfect temperature between the sweat he built up from walking and the chill he felt through his threadbare t-shirt, leaving him exposed to the strong breezes that passed through. And yet through all this, his eyes continuously wandered every which way. 

He noticed the trees growing closer together, the air breathing fresher, and the sunlight falling brighter on the forest floor. It was as though a darkness was lifting from the land the further inward they trekked. 

By midmorning a new sound had joined the chirping birds and thumping footfalls of the Walkers; that of water rushing over falls. Legolas was the first to notice it, of course. His face lit up as he cried out softly in Elvish, before translating. “We are nearing the western borders of Lothlórien,” he declared. “Their western border is marked by where the Nimrodel meets with the Celebrant.” 

It was almost an hour later when they reached the banks of a river that Harry realised what Legolas was talking about; the Nimrodel River. There was no doubt, at this point, that the woods had taken on a quality only viewed in picturesque paintings and places touched by magic. The water sparkled with a blinding brilliance and the flow of the stream produced a music of its own, almost as if it had a voice and were singing. 

The entire scene had a calming effect over the group, alleviating some of the discomforts that came as a result of walking from sun up ‘til sundown with little reprieve. It was the perfect juncture to stop for a lunchbreak, right at the water’s edge. 

Aragorn and Legolas appeared the most eager and excited to be near these fair woods of legend. And their anticipation was only matched by the zealous wonder in the eyes of the hobbits. Sam especially seemed to have a certain fascination with all things elven. Boromir and Gimli, on the other hand, were becoming more and more agitated by the second. And Gimli was doing little to keep his thoughts to himself. 

It had quickly come to Harry’s attention that elves and dwarves were not fond of each other, in much the same way wizards and goblins barely tolerated one another. It was best when Legolas and Gimli were not talking because, according to Pippin, nine times out of ten, any exchange of words quickly turned, like soured milk, into an argument of superiority over the other’s race and badmouthing past deeds and follies of the Dwarves and Elves. 

Harry was thankful not to have seen such a row yet, guessing that the mourning of Gandalf weighed down their thoughts and stayed the harsher natures of their tongues for the moment -for the most part, at least. Gimli still did gripe within the elf’s earshot, but Legolas seemed to have descended into the habit of ignoring Gimli entirely. That, or he was too enamoured by the enchanting woods to engage in repartee. 

But for the moment, all of the company set down their packs – all those who had packs, that is – without fuss and set about preparing a quick meal to enjoy by the river. As they ate, Legolas extolled the natural beauties and endowments of the stream. Some of which was spoken in Elvish to Aragorn, but much of which was translated to Westron for the benefit of the hobbits. Harry listened with half an ear, still sitting on the outskirts of the group, a good foot away. One thing he did pick up, which piqued his attention, was that the water had natural healing properties. 

Frodo was the first to test this out.

While Sam, the group’s cook, prepared something light, Frodo shrugged off his coat, outer vest, shirt, and shiny armour. He leant over the side of the stream, looking intently at his reflection with an almost haunting stare before cupping the clear water in his hands and releasing it down his chest. 

His eyes closed in a blissful expression as he continued to bathe both the bruise on his torso - from a cave troll’s spear no less! - and another darker, deeper wound that looked as though it had only recently been stitched, which lay above his heart. That last one, Harry thought, looked like it pained him much worse than any colourful bruise the size of a grown man’s hand could. As the water rushed over Frodo’s pale skin, a relieved smile blossomed on his face. It was then that Harry got an idea. 

Standing and removing his own shirt, Harry waded out into the stream, a bit past the point where the company sat, and a good distance from where Frodo stood. Waist deep among the currents, he gathered the cool water in the palm of his hands and started to wash his entire body. He meticulously cupped the water and let it soak every inch of skin. It was both chilly and yet more soothing than the hottest bath he’d ever taken, leaving him both invigorated and in no rush to leave any time soon. 

With tentative, slightly shaking fingers, he moved to trace over all the wounds and scars and marks left on his body both physically and in memory throughout the years of his short life. Marks from the Dursleys his magic had managed to heal over and cover up when he was younger; battle scars from all the fighting he’d done against Voldemort since age elven; wounds his friends and family had taken for him in their effort to protect him as much as possible; and lasting marks from the war and Final Battle that would never be fully healed. 

Harry flipped over his left hand and brought the back of it up to eyelevel. The words _‘I must not tell lies’_ gleamed faintly in the sunlight above. Reaching down, he submerged his hand in the water and watched the current drift lazily over his marked skin. With his other hand he began to scrub away at scar. The words didn’t disappear entirely, but Umbridge’s sickly smiling face sitting atop that shapeless pink cardigan no longer loomed leeringly at him when he finally removed his hand to stare down at the now indistinguishable water-glistened words scratched palely onto his skin.

Harry breathed a small sigh of relief. Maybe this water did have more power in it than he had been inclined to believe. 

Harry reached down again to pour water over the scarlet oval on his chest from where the locket Horcrux had seared into his skin. And then set his attention on the almost invisible bite wound on his arm that he got from Nagini the very same night at Godric’s Hollow last Christmas Eve. Again, the water soothed away the residual aches, soreness, and blistering sensitivity, both real and imagined, leaving his arm almost clean and the mark below his collarbone little more than a shadowed bruised, or a light freckle. 

_Gone_ , he said to himself. _Gone_. He wouldn’t let himself bother with these morose thoughts any longer. These scars no longer had any hold on him. 

Breathing deeply, Harry hesitated for a moment as he extended his left arm and gazed down at a mark on his bicep that was not visibly there. The cut from Peter’s knife that night at the Little Hangleton graveyard had still seared sharply at random moments before Voldemort’s final demise. Harry had felt like he’d had his own concealed Dark Mark, which blamed him for his blood being the most important ingredient used to resurrect Voldemort. 

No, he was closing that chapter of his life and moving on now. Cupping another handful of water, Harry closed his eyes as the therapeutic waters of the Nimrodel washed away the perceived black stains and made his arm whole once again. 

Whole, not broken. He liked the sound of that. 

Shifting his stance in the stream to ensure he didn’t fall over, Harry stood there for a bit, staring blankly at the running waters as he contemplated his next move. 

Finally, steeling himself, he breathed in deep before dunking his entire head into the stream. Using both hands, he vigorously scrubbed at the pale lightning bolt scar that had been forever stamped over his right eye. He was not a Horcrux anymore. And thankfully, the stream answered his plea, washing away the last touch of Voldemort on his body.

It was not gone in the strictest sense, but Harry knew he would never have to worry about it again. For the first time in a long time, Harry felt clean again.

It was...rejuvenating, exhilarating, and comforting. He stood there for several moments more, legs spread out and keeping him steady as the currents rushed past him. He relaxed in the feeling of cleanliness and a smile spreading over his face in relief. Tilting his head up to the sun, he let his skin soak in the warming rays. 

This did not go unnoticed by the Fellowship, who had almost forgotten their meal as they chose to watch the young wizard painstakingly wash every part of his body from the torso up. When Harry finally opened his eyes and looked up, he found every eye of the company on him, looking at him in confusion and curiosity. 

Legolas especially was looking at Harry with an odd, calculating look. And not for the first time Harry wondered what was going on in the elf’s head. 

Though he had technically been ‘welcomed’ into the group, he had not yet been told their goals ‘for fear of listening ears’, as Legolas had put it. It certainly was not engendering any trust in Harry either, but he wondered if Legolas was not being more difficult than strictly necessary, in keeping with the elf’s own idiosyncratic logic. Such had been Harry’s thoughts since their odd exchange of words that first night. 

And so, it was with caution that Harry watched as Legolas stepped closer to the brook and sat down on the nearest rock that buffered the rill. 

Harry, in turn, moved another foot away to sit down on a half-submerged boulder on the other side of the stream. In truth, he didn't want to leave the cooling waters just yet, any more than he wanted to be any closer than required to Legolas. 

Outwardly, Legolas appeared to take no notice of Harry’s movements as he looked out over the mystical stream. But when he spoke, though his body language addressed the entire company, Harry got the distinct impression that somehow the words were directed more to him.

“Did you hear the voice of Nimrodel?” Legolas asked, his eyes flickering to Harry for but a moment. He didn’t wait for a reply, however, and said softly, “I will sing you a song of the maiden Nimrodel, who bore the same name as the stream beside which she lived long ago.” 

Harry watched in surprise as members of the Fellowship, namely the hobbits, moved away to sit on the grass by Legolas’ side. They proceeded to look up at him as though they were about to receive a real treat. Harry could only guess that they had heard the elf sing before. 

“It is a fair song in our woodland tongue; but this is how it runs in the Western Speech, as some in Rivendell now sing it.” And then in an even softer voice, hardly to be heard amidst the rustle of the leaves above them and the rushing of the stream beside them, he began: 

_An Elven-maid there was of old,_  
_A shining star by day,_  
_Her mantle white was hemmed with gold,_  
_Her shoes of silver-grey._

__

_A star was bound upon her brows,_  
_A light was on her hair_  
_As sun upon the golden boughs_  
_In Lórien the fair._

_Her hair was long, her limbs were white,_  
_And fair she was and free;_  
_And in the wind she went as light_  
_As leaf of linden-tree._

_Beside the falls of Nimrodel,_  
_By water clear and cool,_  
_Her voice as falling silver fell_  
_Into the shining pool._

_Where now she wanders none can tell,_  
_In sunlight or in shade;_  
_For lost of yore was Nimrodel_  
_And in the mountains strayed._

_The elven-ship in haven grey_  
_Beneath the mountain-lee_  
_Awaited her for many a day_  
_Beside the roaring sea._

_A wind by night in Northern lands_  
_Arose, and loud it cried,_  
_And drove the ship from elven-strands_  
_Across the streaming tide._

_When dawn came dim the land was lost,_  
_The mountains sinking grey_  
_Beyond the heaving waves that tossed_  
_Their plumes of blinding spray._

_Amroth beheld the fading shore_  
_Now low beyond the swell,_  
_And cursed the faithless ship that bore_  
_Him far from Nimrodel._

_Of old he was an Elven-king,_  
_A lord of tree and glen,_  
_When golden were the boughs in spring_  
In fair Lothlórien.

_From helm to sea they saw him leap,_  
_As arrow from the string,_  
_And dive into the water deep,_  
_As mew upon the wing._

_The wind was in his flowing hair,_  
_The foam about him shone;_  
_Afar they saw him strong and fair_  
_Go riding like a swan._

_But from the West has come no word,_  
_And on the Hither Shore_  
_No tidings Elven-folk have heard_  
_Of Amroth evermore._

Legolas’ voice, so strong and soothing to the ear, in a tune more suited to a phoenix than any other creature Harry had ever heard before, now faltered and the song ceased. 

“I cannot sing anymore”.

Harry felt the deep loss of the fair tune as soon as the last note had left his lips. His mind was no longer plagued by the distrustful and disgusted looks from the elf, but by sweet song from even sweeter lips. Ones that could caress him to sleep and drive away all nightmares more effectively than any Dreamless Sleep Potion. 

“That is but a part, for I have forgotten much.” Legolas’ brow creased as he continued to look down at the flowing stream and Harry had to wonder if he had really forgotten the rest of the song, or whether the words were just too painful to utter any longer. “It is long and sad, for it tells how sorrow came upon Lothlórien, Lórien of the Blossom, when the Dwarves awakened evil in the mountains.” 

Gimli was quick to rise to the insinuation of ill-will on the part of his kin and cried, “But the Dwarves did not make the evil!” 

Legolas shook his head, not breaking his gaze from the running waters below to take up the argument, and answered sadly, “I said not so; yet evil came.”

Feeling a sense of melancholy, Harry finally climbed fully out of the waters as the company began to pack up again. 

They would now be on the outskirts of Lothlórien. Or, as Harry put it, walking deeper into the lion’s den. Whether these lions would be friend to a Gryffindor remained to be seen. 

…. . …. .. … .. ….. .. …. . ….

They did not stop walking the following two days. Starting early in the morning, they walked until well after the sun went down in the evening. 

The Woods of Lothlórien had an eerie kind of quietness about them that was unsettling and had Harry constantly looking over his shoulder. It did not help that the rest of the company, sans Legolas and Aragorn, remained unaware of this strange stillness and seemed to be making more noise than usual. In fact, with the amount of banging, grunting, huffing, and stomping they were doing, Harry had to wonder how they weren’t attracting every living creature in the area that was bigger than a bird or squirrel. And just to add to Harry’s unease and increasing wariness, Gimli had become annoyingly fond of relaying to his companions all the horrors about where they were going.

Legolas, as anyone could see who bothered to look, was becoming more and more irate with the dwarf’s every insult and warning of elvish trickery. It was apparent that the elf was only just keeping his temper in check, with no small thanks to Aragorn at his side, who was engaging him in soft conversation in elvish. 

But finally, the dwarf seemed to be too much for Legolas. 

Abruptly switching to Westron mid-conversation with Aragorn, Legolas loudly declared, “I know not why any but the faint of heart and weak of mind would fear such a beautiful place as Lothlórien, for The Land of Dreams is the fairest of all the dwellings of my people. 

“There are no trees like the trees of this land. For in the autumn their leaves fall not but turn to gold. Not till spring comes and the new green opens do they fall. And then the boughs are laden with yellow flowers; and the floor of the woods is golden. And golden is the roof, and its pillars are of silver, for the bark of the trees is smooth and grey.” A light was shining in Legolas’ eyes as he spoke, and he seemed to be another world away as he stared out with wonder at the surrounding forest. “So still our songs in Mirkwood say. My heart would be glad if I were beneath the eaves of this wood and it were springtime!” 

Legolas promptly turned to Aragorn and smiled brightly; his mood having made a 180 since expressing his praise for the forest. “It is said that there is no finer tree than can be found in Lothlórien, and there is no finer night’s sleep than can be found cradled in the boughs of a mallorn.” 

By this time, night had fallen, and Harry was ready to agree if only it meant he could stop moving and rest his eyes and body. 

“We’ll camp here tonight,” Aragorn announced, looking up at the tree Legolas was so eager to climb. “Orcs still infest these lands, we are not out of danger yet,” he muttered more to himself than the company at large, “Perhaps it would not be a bad idea to –”

“I’m not sleeping in no tree!” Gimli cried, face alight with anger at the mere thought of it. “’Specially an elven one with that trumped-up, foolish, tree-hugging elf!” 

Legolas apparently was too excited and enlivened to pay heed to the dwarf and ignored him in favour of jumping onto the nearest tree. He began a quick ascent, grabbing onto seemingly non-existent handholds as he hoisted himself ever upward.

_“Daro!”_ A stern voice cried out from above. (Stop!) _“Man anglenna? Man i eneth lîn?”_ (Who is coming? What is thy name?)

_“Nin estar Legolas Greenleaf, ion en Thranduil, aran Mirkwood. Le suilon,”_ Legolas responded in happy surprise. (I am Legolas Greenleaf, son of Thranduil, king of Mirkwood. I greet thee.) 

_“Mae govannen, Legolas,”_ the voice called. (Well met, Legolas.) _“Tíriel mí le ar istam en lend na Mordor.”_ (We have been watching you and have knowledge of your journey to Mordor.)

Legolas’ face pulled back in shock for a moment and he looked quickly over at Frodo before jumping back down and landing next to Aragorn. 

“The voices are coming from the trees,” an awestruck Sam whispered craning his neck to try and catch a glimpse of the speakers.

_“Man na pedelin?”_ Legolas called back. (Who am I speaking to?) 

There was silence for a moment and seeing as Aragorn was the only other member of the Fellowship who knew what was being said, none of the rest of them was sure what to say. 

_“Amvêd brethil go perian ar tírathog.”_ (Climb up with the hobbit and you will see.)

Legolas turned back to Frodo and the rest of the group. “They want to speak with Frodo.” 

Harry could see that Frodo wasn’t too fond of the idea of climbing up high in the trees towards unknown voices, but it didn't look like he had any other choice. Harry could visibly see him steeling himself, jaw tensing and jutting forward, before nodding to Legolas in agreement. As he climbed onto Legolas’ back, Frodo pat his chest several times, pressing down at almost the exact same spot Harry had a brand from the Horcrux locket. Interesting. 

Harry watched as even with the added weight on his back, Legolas quickly climbed up the tree with a graceful ease. Once he was out of sight, the rest of the company waited in tense silence. 

Aragorn briefly translated what had been said. But as that offered no answers to their growing list of questions, there was nothing to do but sit back and twiddle their thumbs while they waited for two in their fold to return. 

It was a good hour at least before Legolas and Frodo came back down, now in the company of three more. Three tall, stern-faced, grey cloak wearing _elves_ with bows and quivers full of arrows strapped to their backs. 

“Elves,” Sam breathed softly in awe, catching flies as he drank in every detail of the Lothlórien elves. 

“Yes,” Legolas replied, turning to the rest of the company, a small smile on his face at the hobbits’ reactions, though Harry thought his amusement was somewhat forced. Whatever had been discussed high up in the trees could not have been good news. And Frodo’s sombre, subdued expression was no help whatsoever. 

“This is Haldir, Marchwarden of Lothlórien’s northern borders, and his two brothers, Rumil and Orophin.” The three elves bowed their heads as they were introduced. “Haldir speaks the best Westron of his siblings and has promised to take us Caras Galadhon, where Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn reside.”

Legolas then proceeded to introduce the rest of the company, starting with Aragorn, who Haldir had already heard many things of and, curiously, treated him as a fellow kinsman much the same as Legolas. 

Though Harry could not understand what was being said, he realised right away that the only two in the group that Haldir and his brothers trusted were Legolas and Aragorn – elf and elf-friend. Harry wondered where that would put him, not even being from this world. But luckily Aragorn introduced him as a distant cousin to Boromir – not that Harry would ever want to be related to the man who seemed to have more sense of entitlement than Draco Malfoy, but beggars can’t be choosers – and no one questioned him. 

The next time Harry looked, one of the elves – Rumil, Harry was pretty sure – was gone and a silver rope ladder was falling down from the treetops in front of the group. He eyed the rope mistrustfully. It looked so thin and flimsy. He doubted it could hold his weight, much less a hobbit. Good for the elves that they could climb trees like monkeys, but did they really think a little string was going to do the job for the rest of the company? 

It seemed most of the group shared his aversion, especially for that high a climb. But Aragorn put an end to any argument before it could start by grabbing the rope in a strong grip and climbing up without any hesitation. His silent message as leader was clear; we’re sleeping up in the trees tonight. 

“Now wait just a minute,” Gimli cried, eying the weapons on the elves with distaste, his antipathy for the elves themselves not missed either. “I won’t be sleeping in some elvish tree when the ground will do just fine for a dwarf!” 

Haldir turned to look at Gimli, a poorly hidden look of disgust and suspicion colouring his otherwise impassive features. “Know this, dwarf, you are the first of your kind to pass through our Lady’s lands since the Dark Days, as we have not permitted your kin in our homes since. It is only on Legolas and Aragorn’s word and their promise to guard you that I do not detain your right here and now.

“So make no mistake that it would be no arrow out of our quivers should you choose to remain on the ground. Our duty is to defend those who agree to accept our protection. But as Dwarves are well known for their sturdy nature, I am sure you would be able to fight off an orc attack as an army of one.” 

“I suppose I would most certainly have to; can’t expect to rely on an elf to be of help when things take a turn for the worse.” 

“Gimli,” Aragorn called warningly from a few feet above the ground, putting a halt to all conversation and any possible rejoinder from Haldir. Overall preventing what was sure to have become a very heated argument. “It’s just for one night, if orcs attack, I want everyone together.” 

Gimli glared at the rope ladder that was now holding Pippin and Merry, as well as Aragorn’s weight without the slightest protest. Orophin had already disappeared back up the tree and Legolas was not far behind him, climbing up without the aid of the rope not far from Aragorn. Harry chose that moment to follow after all four hobbits had climbed about halfway up. 

Boromir and Gimli both still had their feet firmly on the ground and didn't look inclined to be moving anytime soon. Boromir seemed just as apprehensive of the elves, but had yet to make his opinions verbally known. He, at least, was obviously aware that he was clearly outnumbered, even if he couldn't see all the elvish eyes trained on him from above at the moment. Harry sure felt them. It was like he was under a microscope. When Legolas had said the Elves of Lothlórien were reclusive this must have been what he meant. 

Harry didn't try saying anything to the two stubborn mules on the ground, knowing his opinion would probably count less than the elves’ with those two. But after reaching about halfway up the ladder, Harry felt it become taut in his hands as new, heavier weight was added to the bottom. The threat of fending off an orc attack on one’s own, even with two warriors, seemed to have been enough of an incentive to get both pig-headed dolts climbing. 

Harry reached the top of the platform, which Haldir had informed the curious hobbits was called a flet. More like an open tree house in Harry’s opinion, which put anything Dudley had ever had to shame. He found Rumil at the top, offering him a hand up, which Harry gratefully accepted. The flet was simple, bedrolls stacked economically to the side, a large map of what Harry assumed to be the forest of Lothlórien tacked to the trunk, along with some parchment and quills neatly arranged on a makeshift desk. 

The hobbits were all huddled in the middle, looking too scared to even move this high up with no walls to keep them from falling over the edge. Harry couldn’t say he blamed them. While not afraid of heights himself when his favourite hobby was flying his Firebolt at breakneck speeds from nosebleed-high falls, he also was feeling a little uneasy. Especially without his trusty broom at hand to save him from an accidental fall. 

Harry looked back over the edge to see how far he’d climbed and how far he could potentially fall. Surprisingly, he felt only a little drop in his stomach this time. He didn't know why, but he suddenly felt very sure of himself that if he did fall, he would be able to catch himself and land on his feet. 

It was like instinct; like the feeling he got when that school broom first smacked into his hand at command and turned in tandem with him as he rescued Neville’s Remembrall. It didn’t really make sense. He’d climbed plenty of trees before in the past during escape attempts from Dudley and his gang, not to mention Marge’s bulldog, Ripper, and he’d never had this confidence before. Heck, he’d fallen plenty of times before and never landed on his feet. 

But this time was different. _Now_ was different, he thought as he continued to gaze lazily down at the ground from what most would consider dizzying heights. But he felt absolutely fine up here, and a part of him, a small part, had the urge to climb even higher and see how far he could go. 

He shook himself of that notion, wondering if there was something in the elvish air. Harry moved away from the edge to go and join the hobbits just in time to hear Sam asking Haldir if anyone had ever fallen out of one of these things.

The elf replied, “Of course, though it rarely occurs. Elves are excellent climbers and very light on their feet. It is the distrustful eye that leaden clumsy feet more oft than not,” the blond elf said with a straight face, making Harry wonder whether he intended to offer encouragement or just a warning. Or perhaps he was trying to tell some kind of elven joke that was falling on deaf ears. 

Sam didn’t seem any happier with the answer, in any case, and even edged closer to the middle, now crowding Merry and Pippin to the point that if one fell, they were all going down together. Thankfully though, it would only be to the wooden floorboards of the flet, not the ground below. 

Haldir gazed impassively at the hobbits and their nervous movements before saying, “Stay close and sleep well, and we shall pass you through the night. Tomorrow’s journey will be long, so do not crowd your thoughts with fears and worries. It does not do well to dwell on such things.” 

Haldir vaguely reminded Harry of the centaurs as he spoke. Which was odd, as from what he’d heard from Pippin, elves were much sillier and prone to engage in puerile merriment. Obviously, their views on life varied greatly from that of the centaurs. But then what kind of elf was Haldir? Perhaps marchwardens were the exception to such rules. Or this was yet another quirk of the reclusive Lothlórien elves? 

In any event, little conversation was continued from that point. Though that was mainly because the nervous excitement from before had died down, leaving everyone even more tired than they had been before. 

Eventually the entire company was gathered and split onto two different flets, connected by an archway made from more of that flimsy-looking rope. Harry was glad not to be among those asked to move. Instead he was to stay with the hobbits and Haldir, while Legolas, Aragorn, Gimli, and Boromir moved to the next flet to stay with Orophin and Rumil. 

The six ate together in silence, a simple meal of flat, unleavened bread wrapped in a thick, green leaf. Lembas bread, as Haldir had called it, could feed the stomach of a grown man with just a few bites. Harry found this to be true enough after two bites, filling him up to the point of feeling sleepy and relaxed. It had the same effect as if he’d just eaten a big dinner at the Weasleys out in their back garden on a lazy, summer night. 

What were the Weasleys doing now, Harry wondered? Had they given him up as dead? Missing? Did they think he ran away, was kidnapped? He knew Hermione wouldn’t give up looking until they found a body. Harry hoped he would be able to get home soon. But at the same time, something told him that he wouldn't be seeing the Burrow again for a very long time. 

Turning back to the quiet conversation between Pippin, Sam, and Haldir, Harry found out that Haldir had an extra bedroll and blanket for him that night. Though truthfully, Harry wasn’t sure he would need it. The smooth wood felt a lot more pleasurable to sleep on than the rocky, uneven ground he’d been subjected to for the last seven nights or so. But it was nice to have a pillow at least, and as soon as Harry’s head hit the soft material, he was asleep. 

. ... . ….. . … . 

Hours later found Harry tossing and turning in his sleep. A myriad of half-formed images flickered at the surface of his thoughts, tearing him away from possible dreams and making him twitchy and restless. 

Only a handful of hours after he’d closed his eyes, Harry suddenly bolted awake as a foreign presence struck at his Occlumency barriers with all the force of lightning. Before Harry could even cognise what was happening, the attacker switched tactics and began enveloping his outer shields like a thick fog. Just as quickly as it had spread, the fog slowly started to solidify like a snake constricting its prey.

Luckily, though, Harry’s Occlumency shields were strong. 

Before Voldemort’s demise, it was like Harry had been pulling with all his might in a game of tug of war since the age of one. He had unknowingly been fighting for the very right to exist against the Horcrux. And as a result, each new attack Voldemort threw at him had only helped build his mental fort. Every mind intrusion and attempted possessions that had not killed him, only made his stronger. And then, all of a sudden, Voldemort had let go. Harry had won and he not only had the increased control and magical power, but the strength of mind to show for it as well. 

For all intents and purposes, Harry’s mind was now stronger than a steel trap. And he wouldn’t ever be letting anyone else inside it ever again.

Still, this person was strong. The solidified fog grew thicker and the pressure fiercer, but Harry didn’t budge an inch. With concentrated effort, he erected another barrier around his mind, pushing outward and repelling any and all foreign objects that did not belong. 

After a few more tense moments of push and tug, he was rewarded when the alien pressure finally receded, and the fog dissipated. Opening his eyes - when had he closed them? - he breathed a sigh of relief, and then slowly refilled his lungs with the fresh night air. 

The scene around him revealed three quietly sleeping hobbits and one Frodo tense and turning restlessly in his sleep as Harry had been doing earlier. 

Whatever had been attacking Harry was also after Frodo. Harry just hoped Frodo was strong enough to fight it. A mind attack was not something you could assist another in, but that didn’t mean Harry couldn’t help make Frodo more alert by waking him up. 

He rolled over and sat up to do just that when he suddenly noticed Haldir, crouching precariously at the edge of the flet, looking straight at Harry. 

“The Lady of the Golden Wood welcomes you to Lothlórien, as well as all of Middle Earth, Master Wizard. She hopes you enjoy your trip to Caras Galadhon and appreciate the wonders of her home. Until then, she is most anxious to speak with you.”

. ... . ….. . … . 

“Wait,” Hermione interrupted again for what had to be the hundredth time, Harry thought. “You blocked out Lady Galadriel? The most powerful witch and seer of Middle Earth? Harry, that’s amazing!”

“Hermione,” Ron turned to her, “love,” he added, stopping to take a calming breath. “If you interrupt one more time I’m gonna hafta –ta –,” he glanced wildly around for something to say. 

“Hit you with pillow,” Harry supplied for his stumbling friend with an amused grin. “Better yet,” he added with a growing smile, “we’ll charm a pillow to hit you every time you interrupt.”

“Much better than a Silencing Charm any day,” Legolas added with a grin. 

Hermione looked gobsmacked, and ready to open her mouth to no doubt comment on them all ganging up on her once again, when Ron remedied the situation before it could get out of hand by leaning over and kissing her soundly on the mouth. 

“That works too,” Legolas said with a thoughtful look on his face. 

“Though I doubt we’ll have their attention for long after they start that. We might have to hit both of them with a pillow. Though more likely a splash of cold water would work better,” Harry said, looking thoughtfully as his two friends began snogging like there was no tomorrow.

“I value my life too much to allow you to do that while I’m in the room. But feel free to see what happens on your own.” Legolas looked about to get up and walk away, an idea Harry was beginning to think was a better and better one as the seconds ticked by. Ron and Hermione looked no closer to finishing; in fact, they seemed to be starting something instead. But Harry wouldn’t let Legolas get away so easily with a comment like that. 

Reaching out and taking Legolas’ face in his hands, Harry turned his husband’s head to face him directly. “Is that so,” he asked, before pulling him in and kissing him soundly as well. 

_‘I bet we can beat them.’_

_‘Any day of the week,’_ Legolas silently agreed. 

_‘But let’s not show them up on their wedding night.’_ Harry decided that now was a good time to sneak out of there and let them get on with their special night. Ron seemed to have things well under control. 

It was close to four o’clock in the morning when Harry Apparated them out of there to Number 12 Grimmauld Place. But not before leaving the couple a note saying that Harry and Legolas would see them _after_ their honeymoon, and to not even attempting trying to find Harry and Legolas until they’d had their time together. 

“You know Hermione will be ready to run you through the roof when she realises what you’ve done,” Legolas mentioned idly as he gazed around at the mess that was still Grimmauld Place. Especially at 4:00 in the morning, it was dark, musty, and smelt as though something had crawled under the floorboards and died. 

Harry immediately looked to his left where the notorious Mrs Black’s portrait hung. Luckily, the moth-eaten curtain was somehow still fully drawn, and their quiet entrance hadn’t alerted her. 

“Yes,” Harry agreed offhandedly, banishing the dust in the foyer before starting on the staircase. The house elf heads were the next thing to go, followed by the pealing, bloodstained wallpaper. 

If there was a patch of green somewhere, or a nice, large forest to go to with lovely tall trees as thick as the side of small house, Harry would be there. But he wanted to stay close to his friends just in case, and wild, untouched woodlands were hard to come by in the great city of London. So, they were stuck in the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, for now. 

“Nothing like a good, suspenseful pause to a story to really start off a romantic getaway. Want to bet she’ll cut the trip short and hunt us down before the week is up?” 

Legolas ran a hand along the now bare wall and quickly withdrew it again when he came across an oddly shaped oil stain deep in the plasterboard. 

“I would hardly take that bet,” Legolas said as he cautiously made his way up the stairs, stopping to look in unconcealed disgust at the plaques where the house elf heads been only seconds before. Harry continued to vanish decrepit artefacts as he climbed the stairs ahead of his husband. “You are sure there is nowhere else we can stay?” 

“Not to my knowledge, and not without causing an uproar. It’s a shame I didn’t ask Luna what she was up to tonight, I’m sure she would have had a place for us to sleep. If I knew where she lived, now” he muttered to himself.

“Come on, though,” Harry reached back a hand for Legolas to take, gently pulling him forward. “It’s just for tonight. I’ll figure out something for us in the morning when we go to Gringotts. The goblins have always been good at keeping secrets, given the right incentive,” Harry added conspiratorially. As they made their way to the third landing, Harry directed them down the hall to look for a room that wouldn’t stir up too many bad memories for the night.


	7. Seryca's Request to the Master of Death

Before going out the next morning and leaving Grimmauld Place for hopefully the last time, Harry made a point to soften both his and Legolas’ features with a bit of magic.

“I’d rather not have the entire Alley ogling you, love,” Harry said as he passed a hand over Legolas’ ears, rounding out their tip, and then doing the same with his nose, cheekbones, and chin. He looked carefully over his handiwork, smiling as Legolas tilted his head to the side in pose, before copying the procedure on himself.

“Better?” Harry asked Legolas for confirmation. The mirror in the hall was so grimy from years and years of dust and who knew what else that it was a lost cause by now to even try to clean let alone use as a reflective surface.

The older elf shrugged. “Depends on your view, but I still think you look gorgeous.”

“You better,” Harry quipped back absently, turning his attention to look around and see his improvements on the room from last night, now that they could see better in the daylight. It still looked creepy and what one would expect from any bona fide haunted house, but he supposed it was an improvement. Harry spun in place slowly, remembering his short time here in fifth year with mixed feelings; his small moments with Sirius, the godfather he never really got to know. After seventh year, his fifth had been the worst to date, though the summers in between had been a hell of their own.

Stopping to face Legolas once again, he asked, “But will we attract much attention?”

“You look decidedly human,” Legolas confirmed with a nod, discreetly refraining from commenting on Harry’s inner thoughts and letting him instead change course and move on. “Though not exactly the same as when we met.”

“And thank the Valar for that,” Harry returned, rolling his eyes. He then transfigured their dress tunics into something more along the lines of wizarding robes, which he thought effectively finished off the look of going wizarding incognito.

This way they would not stand out as much as they had at the wedding, where they were supposed to have been strictly observers. And look where that plan had gotten them. So better to be safe than sorry was the new motto, though Harry didn’t really expect to be recognised as the Boy-Who-Lived.

He was hardly the same undernourished teenager he had been when he’d left this world, after all. The scar on his forehead for one was gone, and for another, no one should be looking for him, seeing as most considered him dead or missing. For the most part, he figured they would be safe walking down Diagon Alley without an entourage.

“All right, then,” Harry nodded, satisfied for now, and held out his arm for Legolas to grip. “Let’s go.” They were thoroughly done with Grimmauld Place and Harry fervently wished never to return again. He hoped by the end of the morning they would have more choices available to them.

Not sparing the old room another look, Harry Apparated them into the back room of the _Leaky Cauldron._

“We're here,” Harry said softly, more to himself than Legolas, as he gazed around with a bit of nostalgia at the grimy brick wall and rubbish bins, which smelt like they’d been there for weeks. Harry held his breath and went about looking for the correct bricks to tap that would open the gateway to the Alley.

“ _This_ is Diagon Alley?” Legolas said in confusion, looking around him with a disbelieving expression, his nose wrinkled up at the smell. “Are you sure this is the right place?”

Chuckling quietly, he realising he hadn’t explained his entire journey into the wizarding world adequately enough to Legolas before. He didn't bother answering now though because at that moment he was tapping his fingers, channelled with a bit of magic, against the right sequence of bricks.

As soon as he stepped back and pulled Legolas along with him to make way, the bricks started shifting and moving until the two were presented with an archway into the Alley.

Harry heard Legolas gasp softly beside him, and he gently took the elf’s arm and guided him through to the other side.

It was a wonder to see after so many years.

The Alley was bustling with activity; merchants yelling, broadcasting their wares, patrons haggling prices, animals squawking from the menagerie, demanding to be bought by passing wizards and witches. It was an all-around incoherent jumble that greeted their ears upon entry, though it was still fairly early and probably considered calm for a Sunday morning.

Harry noted that new buildings had been erected to replace the ones burnt down during the war. _Ollivander’s_ was back in business, though another name Harry wasn’t familiar with was scripted beneath the famous sign; an apprenticeship of some sort, probably, giving how Ollivander had faired personally through the war. Harry spared a glance into the wand shop, but didn't think he could risk going in right now.

Turning back to the main Alley, Harry would have to admit that the sights, smells, and sounds of the magical shopping centre had not diminished since his last visit. It put his heart at peace to see how well the wizarding populace was doing only a decade after the war had ended. There was resilience and hope to be found in the race of Men, wizarding or otherwise, after all.

And for the first time, Harry felt the overwhelming ambience of magic generated in the place; it was staggering. The concentration of so much magic assaulting the senses was a bit like breathing in a fresh breath of autumn air after being shut in a musty room for a year.

Magic-wise, there was no equivalent of this place in Middle Earth.

Smiling with an undeniable feeling of excitement, Harry turned to Legolas, who was looking around in unmitigated wonder. Eyes wide as wizarding galleons and jaw slowly dropping and closing as his lips half-formed silent words of astonishment, Legolas looked like a Muggle-born getting their first introduction to the Magical World.

Harry no longer worried about getting stopped in the streets for being recognised as The-Boy-Who-Lived, but he was still silently thanking the Valar that he’d had the foresight to disguise their features. It would appear that with Legolas gawking like a small child, taking in all the sites, they would really need it if they wanted to attract the minimum amount of attention.

Feeling it was a little superfluous, but not caring as Legolas’ reaction was giving him sheer amusement, Harry threw out his arms and declared dramatically, “ _Alae,_ Diagon Alley!” (Behold)

But for all his dramatics, Legolas appeared not to hear him, though the urgent tugging on his arm to get Harry to start moving made it more than obvious what the other elf wanted.

Harry then became the impromptu tour guide, leading Legolas down the Alley, pointing out the buildings, telling him their names, and explaining their purposes and services they provided to wizards. Getting to Gringotts took double the time it should, but Harry didn’t mind much. His spouse’s enthusiasm and curiosity was nothing if not adorable, though Harry would never admit such a thing to Legolas’ face.

However, the easy contentment of walking down the Alley, talking about all its little shops and boltholes, soon came to an abrupt end as Gringotts came into sight. Like being doused with a bucket of cold water, Harry’s entire body tensed as they made their way closer and closer to the gilded doors that forewarned thieves of what they would find should they even attempt breaking into such a formidable bank owned by the goblin race.

Harry knew exactly what one would find down there, and he was not so sure he would be welcomed back through those same doors having blasted through them the last time on the back of an aged, half-blind dragon. But if nothing else, he had to try. Let no one call the Lone Warrior of Aratar a coward.

Legolas easily sensed his fear and fell silent, squeezing his hand in support as they lightly ascended the marble steps into the bank, past the sentinel goblin, who didn't even spare them a glance, surprisingly.

Harry treaded cautiously, fearing that they would be thrown out by some magical alarm or powerful goblin magic, maybe by the point of a sword, any second now. He was more worried for Legolas than himself, knowing that while he had his wizarding magic to protect him, Legolas’ inherent elven magic would not work well here in a room full of gold and stone. Unfortunately, he knew for a fact that Legolas would not take kindly to being told to wait anywhere while his spouse was in danger. Which was why Harry was ready at a moment’s notice to shield Legolas from any unsavoury form of goblin revenge.

But no such attack had come yet.

Scanning the place constantly, from the vaulted ceiling to the marble floors and all the dark corners and possible hiding spots in between, Harry waited in line for a teller to open up with bated breath, still intent on visiting his vault and reviewing his assets. This waiting for goblin retaliation was unbearable, and Harry was sure that was part of their plan as well.

One thing he had learned in Middle Earth was that he was a warrior above all else, as were the goblins, so he knew how they were likely to think. That nothing had happened to them so far was more than a little worrying and Harry was just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Finally, the teller at the very end of the lobby was free, and Harry stepped up with no little amount of trepidation. The goblin in question was currently counting out odd, copper-looking coins shaped like small birds.

“I wish to visit the Potter vault today,” Harry said quietly with as much confidence as was afforded him, knowing that in addition to being a wanted criminal of the goblin nation he also had no wand or key to verify his identity.

The goblin looked up sharply at the request and his pale blue eyes widened slightly as his gaze wracked over Harry’s face. Harry watched as the goblin searched for the tell-tale lightning bolt scar, the goblin’s eyes narrowing in suspicion when he couldn’t find even a trace of the cursed mark.

“Where's your wand, sir?”

Harry stayed his expression and shook his head. “I lost it a long time ago.” That was a story for another time, and not one he had any inclination of sharing with the goblins.

The goblin raised an eyebrow in disbelief, giving a look that Harry read as, ‘do I look that stupid to you?’

“And your key?” he sneered derisively, his wispy, light brown eyebrows coming together in an arch. The goblin pushed himself up with his arms to lean over the pedestal separating them to glare down at Harry, giving Harry a view of his black suit, made of a thick, oddly soft looking material Harry had never seen before. 

“I don't have it anymore.”

The goblin leant back and shook his head, crossing his arms smugly as he did so. He opened his mouth to say something, no doubt to deny Harry access without the required identifications, when Harry stepped forward until he was toeing the wooden barrier, and momentarily dropped the glamour he’d put on his features.

“I’m here to visit the Potter Vault,” he repeated slowly, more forcibly than before, and just on this side of a threat. He knew he was already in hot water here, but he didn't take kindly to being pushed around like this.

Harry felt Legolas step closer to his side, showing a united front. If this goblin thought they were going to just back down, he had another think coming.

The goblin didn't back down either, but narrowed his eyes further and scrutinised Harry carefully for several long seconds, saying nothing. Harry used all his warrior knowledge and training as an elf to stay completely still during the scrutiny and not let any weaknesses show. He would prove to the goblins that he would not be cowed by anything they threw at him.

Finally, the goblin nodded, and abandoning his task, stepped down from behind the counter and beckoned Harry and Legolas to follow him round back.

Through a side door of unadorned wood that blended well with the wall, the trio entered a small, dimly lit room where a single, older looking goblin with a distinguishing number of rings in his right ear sat behind a desk, bent over a piece of parchment he was writing furiously on.

The teller bowed at the waist before the elder goblin and did not straighten back up until his superior raised his head and asked a question in Gobbledigook. The teller hesitated in his response, his gaze flickering to Harry, before answering with a tone of uncertainty in the same language.

The elder goblin looked up and surveyed Harry with a much fiercer gaze than the teller had. “You claim to be Harry Potter,” the goblin demanded accusatorily in a deep, scratchy voice that was offensive to the ear.

Harry refrained from wincing and nodded his head, “I am.”

“You are what?” the goblin asked irritably, flicking his hand up like he didn’t have the time to deal with such stupidity.

Harry narrowed his eyes in annoyance and said clearly, “Harry James Potter.”

Two palm-sized crystal rocks, one purple, the other yellow, which Harry hadn’t noticed upon entering, glowed brightly on the goblin’s desk immediately after he spoke. Harry noticed five other rocks of different colours next to it and wondered what their purpose was.

“That you were,” the elder goblin said softly, peering intently at the stones, still faintly glowing, “Mr Potter.”

A muffled grunt of surprise came from the corner, where the teller had backed away after speaking with the elder goblin. When Harry returned to regard the goblin behind the desk again, he found his stare being met with steely grey eyes overshadowed by thick black eyebrows, an odd contrast to the rim of cropped grey hair around his ears.

“Welcome back to the wizarding world, Mr Potter,” the elder said, in a much more respectful tone this time, leaving Harry both surprised and confused.

“Erm, pardon?” he asked. They couldn't possibly know that. At the back of his mind, Harry registered Legolas’ mirroring shock and suspicion.

The goblin seemed unfazed by their reaction and merely nodded as though in agreement. “Your blood heritage as the Potter heir has been confirmed, as well as a change of conditions in name, marital status, and species,” he said, indicating the seven crystals lined up at the edge of his desk as he did so, but didn’t explain anymore. Harry got the impression that such information was goblin-censored and decided not to pry further. The fact that they knew all that from just two crystals lighting up was good enough for him. That was, unless they knew more than they were telling and planning to use that information against Harry as retribution for crimes committed during the war.

Harry’s gaze continued to level with the goblin in charge, who seemed to know exactly where Harry’s mind was going and was so far content in watching Harry squirm internally, trying to figure out his next move.

Diplomacy and warfare could be surprisingly similar given the right circumstances, or so Harry thought. In this present situation, he thought the goblins would appreciate some honest bluntness.

“And what does that information mean to you? Am I free to access my vault?”

The goblin’s expression was unreadable as he brought his hands up above the desktop and knotted his fingers together, the long nails clicking audibly, watching Harry carefully.

“I would first like to formally address the issue at hand, Mr Potter; Mr Longbottom’s return of the Sword of Gryffindor on your behalf has mended any sour relations between us, and your status as a persona non grata has since been dropped. You are welcomed as a distinguished patron once more.

“I am Hall Master Grintok, and this is Vagnahk,” he gestured to the teller still standing in the corner dutifully, “he’ll be helping you today with anything you request.”

Harry had not been expecting this. A fight perhaps, bribes of gold to allow him access to his vaults and entrance through the doors maybe, but a full pardon? Never. He would have to send Neville a big thank you, especially considering he most likely had done it _after_ Harry had disappeared with no sign of returning. He also suspected that a fair amount of gold had also been donated on his behalf. He would be forever indebted to his fellow former Gryffindor.

“Thank you,” Harry nodded his head in return, feeling a little disconnected with the moment, the whole thing being rather anticlimactic. But he still felt that more needed to be said. “And I do apologise for unleashing the dragon on Gringotts. It was not my original intention to cause such destruction and anything I can do to help compensate the losses Gringotts inevitably took in light of my actions, I do so willingly.”

The goblins were being more than diplomatic and Harry felt the obligation to return the gesture now that a fight of revenge and goblin glory was out of the picture. If Legolas and Gimli could become best of friends, then Harry could certainly repair this slight, given that the goblins were already amenable to such a discussion.

Grintok looked at him oddly for a moment, seeming to consider his offer.

“On behalf of the Goblin Nation, I accept your apology as an effort to start mending the bridge between the very old and illustrious Potter Family and the Goblins. We have not had any trouble with the Potters in the past and are eager to ameliorate the damaged relations.

“I will have Vagnahk lead you to your vault, now, if that is all.”

Harry nodded in compliance, feeling like a weight had been removed from his chest knowing that he was no longer a wanted fugitive by the goblins. His imagination had been creating scenarios much worse than had played out this morning and he was glad that reality had nothing on his overactive imagination.

Taking the dismissal, Harry thanked Grintok for his time and turned to follow Vagnahk out the door and back into the main lobby.

As they walked over to the golden doors where a number of goblins dressed in simpler uniforms of black and grey were waiting to lead wizards down to their vaults, Vagnahk politely asked, “Is there anything else I can help you with today, Mr Potter?”

“Would the Potter’s will be in the vault?” Harry was unsure of the business side of things here, having really only gone through the wizarding schooling system and little else. But though elves didn’t have a money system or banking, over 30 years as Legolas’ consort and dealing with the workings of running a kingdom had given Harry a sharper mind for these sorts of things. And he knew there had to be more than he was told at 11 years old. Maybe Dumbledore would have told him more after the war if he hadn’t died before the war had really begun.

In any case, Harry was back now and ready to have questions answered that had hung over his head for so long; questions about his parents, about being a Potter, and anything else about the wizarding world that he should have known growing up.

Vagnahk didn’t look phased in the least though as he said, “Inheritances are not passed down in the same way in Magical World as in the Muggle. When you go into your vault, which will be different than the one which held your trust for your school funds when you were younger, you will find a statue bearing the Potter Crest. Place your hand over the crest and the rest will be self-explanatory.

“You have also been named sole beneficiary to the Black fortune; though, not being born a Black there are some restrictions to the traditional method. Wills of sorts are written up in such cases. I will have that ready for you by the time you and your husband return.

“Novgod,” he added, gesturing forward one of the younger looking goblins standing in wait to be called for duty, “will bring you down to the Potter vault for now.”

Harry thanked him for his assistance and time and then turned to breath a quiet sigh of relief, letting out all the pent-up anxiety and apprehension he had been building since he had espied the magnificent structure of the bank from down the Alley. He was pretty sure he heard Vagnahk chuckle as he made his way to the back to fulfil Harry’s request, though that could just be his overwrought imagination. 

Nodding to himself and pressing his lips together in a half-formed grimace, Harry and Legolas walked over to the aforementioned Novgod, who proceeded to lead them through a set of golden doors and into the nearest cart.

As they were climbing in, Legolas leant over and whispered in Harry’s ear, “I heard that comment about Gimli and I.” Meaning he’d heard all the subtle, unspoken meaning behind it too, knowing the story behind not only Harry’s misfortunate adventure into Gringotts during the war, but the strained relations between wizards and goblins over the years. It wasn’t exactly a subtle comparison.

“I hadn’t meant to be discreet about it,” Harry informed him glibly, sitting down in the cart and putting his hand out to help Legolas do the same. “You know there is nothing to deny, which is why you’re only mentioning it now,” he said, smirking impudently. “Hold on tight,” Harry added in a serious tone before the conversation could continue. “I don’t think you’re going to like this.”

And he was right. Legolas had barely opened his mouth to respond to Harry’s earlier brazen remark when he immediately shut it again as the cart took off and dropped down in a sharp incline straight away. It was very similar to Harry and his friends’ trip down to the Lestrange’s vault at first, sans the dragons, but this time they went even deeper and the ride was much longer than his previous one.

Looking over at his spouse, Harry was beginning to regret having Legolas come along; he looked distinctly green around the gills. Ground moving unwillingly beneath an elf at speeds faster than the swiftest horse – even faster than the Mearas – was not welcome, and Legolas was clinging to the side of cart in one hand and had Harry’s arm in a death grip in the other.

Harry, meanwhile, though an elf now and having become accustomed to his own Mearas, _Rohna_ , still thought the whole ride was bloody brilliant, especially when he wasn’t fearing being dropped mid-journey by _The Thief’s Downfall_.

By the time the cart stopped, Legolas looked glued to the seat and Harry wondered whether it would not be a good idea to just leave him there.

‘ _I’m coming,’_ Legolas said determinedly, his mouth still firmly shut and he was looking straight ahead, feeling that if he moved he would be sick.

_‘I guess I was under the false impression that elves were made of tougher stuff than that.’_

Legolas didn’t respond, but Harry could see his eyes narrowing in a glare, only he wasn’t able to move his head yet to direct it at its intended recipient.

Done with the teasing, for now, Harry gently took Legolas’ hand attached to the cart and unglued it finger by finger, and then immediately clasped it in his own. Standing slowly and taking Legolas with him – Legolas’ other hand still gripping Harry’s other arm – Harry carefully stepped off the cart and onto solid ground again.

“Better?” Harry asked kindly.

Legolas’ breathed sigh of relief was answer enough.

“You’re not going to need something stronger by the time we’re done like a certain big friend of mine, are you?” Harry asked only half-teasingly as he slowly led Legolas to where Novgod was waiting by the vault entrance.

“ _Ae ta miruvor, sogathon,”_ he muttered for Harry’s ears alone, though he did look a bit better as they started walking. (If it’s miruvor, yes/I’ll drink it.)

“Sorry, I didn't think to bring that. I had an ice cream after my first time riding,” he suggested blithely.

 _‘Ice cream?’_ Legolas deadpanned, taking in the image Harry was sending him of his favourite sundae at Fortescue’s. _‘A human sweet?’_

 _‘I know, right?’_ Harry said seriously, _‘There_ are _some things Muggles and wizards are able to agree on,’_ he shook his head with a mock look of incredulousness on his face.

 _‘You were nine,’_ Legolas said, choosing to ignore Harry’s attempt at humour. His stomach wasn’t in the mood at the moment.

 _‘Eleven, thank you very much,’_ Harry glared indignantly, _‘And now I’m 68, by my reckoning. I fail to see your point here.’_ The amused grin on his face told otherwise. However, they were now standing in front of the waiting goblin, who was looking at the couple suspiciously, causing Legolas to pause and refrain from retorting.

“It better be good, this ice cream,” Legolas muttered out of the corner of his mouth, bringing forth an amused chuckle from Harry before the duo turned their full attention to the goblin.

Novgod was all business, immediately commanding Harry. “Put a hand on the phoenix’s beak.”

In the middle of the iron door was the relief of a phoenix, whose beak stuck out, open-mouthed, in mid cry. Harry reached up and laid a hand atop the cool surface as Novgod had instructed, and was shocked when the metal grew warm and red beneath his touch; the beak opened wider and emitted a beautiful song, though it was but an echo of the true phoenix call. It still put a smile on Harry’s face, remembering Fawkes and the effect his song had had on strengthening Harry’s will and warming his heart every time he heard it.

“You’re magical signature and heritage as a Potter has been recognised; you may enter.” Novgod moved out of the way as the phoenix melted fully into the smooth door and then the door 

But Harry just stood there.

The last time he’d entered a vault in here he remembered a door shutting, locking them in a room full of burning, multiplying goblets, Galleons, armour, and jewels. He also remembered the mayhem that followed and escaping out of Gringotts’ roof, through its marble floors, and out its front doors on the back of a half-blind dragon.

Novgod seemed to immediately sense his unease and correctly sussed out the problem. “You will find that in a vault that is your own, none can close the door other than the owner.”

There was comforting assurance and a thorned jibe in that statement; Harry hoped Novgod wasn’t one of the goblins who had confronted him, Ron, and Hermione outside the Lestrange’s vault. Somehow he didn't think so. That story had likely circulated around the bank faster than those Gringotts carts after the dragon had made its spectacular exit. Harry didn't dare ask how long that had taken to clean up, nor how much was lost in the escape. He was sure his vault would take a hit soon enough, if it hadn’t already.

Taking the slight with good grace, he stepped determinedly into the vault with Legolas at his heels.

Unlike the cavern-like structure that was the Lestrange’s vault, this made Harry think more of a cathedral with its towering, arched ceilings, shiny, mahogany walls, and marble pillars spread strategically throughout. The only thing one would not see in your typical cathedral was the mounds of gold, gems, jewellery, books, and other ancient, ornamental trinkets that could probably fetch a fortune if Harry cared to find out.

He immediately spotted the statue of the Potter Crest that Vagnahk had told him about. Right in their direct line of vision stood a short pedestal, no taller than Harry, that held a large family crest, spanning at least a foot in length, one unlike Harry had ever seen before. Cut in the shape of a large triangle, a sword that reminded Harry distinctly of the sword of Gryffindor cut through the middle in stark reds, blues, and yellows. Behind it, a phoenix flew, wings open, embracing the edges of the crest, its face upturned in mid-call.

A light push to his back had Harry stumbling forward before he regained his footing, quite quickly, and found himself in reaching distance to the crest. Not giving himself time to overthink it, Harry lifted a hand and pressed it up against the blade of the sword, palm covering it entirely, fingers curled slightly and touching the surprisingly soft neck of the phoenix. It almost felt like feathers were rising up to greet his touch.

Then without warning, a warm voice suddenly burst aloud in his head.

“ _Welcome, son of the Potter line,_ _Erisdîr, Prince of Mirkwood,_ _Lone Warrior, previously known as Harry James Potter, son of James and Lily nee Evans._

‘ _Whoa,’_ Legolas intoned from behind.

Harry would have laughed at Legolas’ response if he wasn’t feeling the same sentiment himself. He could only tacitly agree and offer his only explanation to their question. _‘Magic.’_

He had a feeling this wouldn't be the only incident that would find him tongue-tied and amazed, but rather, only the first of many.

_‘It has been a long while since there was only one Potter left. And it looks as though you tend to leave it that way.’_

Harry looked up and around. How could they possibly know that? The source of the voice had to be somewhere in this room to be able to see Legolas or be sentient in some capacity to see inside Harry’s head.

As Harry squinted his eyes against the glint of silver and gold to peer up into the rafters, he heard the voice chuckle. _‘Wizards have learnt to avoid being seen if they so wish, but to disappear entirely is a gift still granted only to the phoenix and the one who bears the True Cloak of Invisibility.’_ A pause and Harry and Legolas looked at one another in shock. _‘Namely, you, Prince Erisdîr –’_

“But I don—,” Harry started to interrupt.

_‘ –and me.’_

A phoenix!

A soothing, humorous trill echoed from the back of the room, followed by a blur of pure, fierce hot blue fire. Harry watched its quick progression as the fire took shape and a phoenix, a little bigger than Fawkes, alighted atop the Potter Crest. It’s piercing blue eyes, the same colour of its fire, were the first thing Harry noticed. His eyes were then drawn to its deep purple and sapphire plumage that looked almost black in some light.

“Beautiful,” Legolas whispered, enraptured by the sight before him. Harry, who had been familiar with another phoenix years ago was a little less in awe, but would be the first to admit that this bird was beauty beyond measure.

 _‘Welcome, Master Potter,’_ the phoenix tilted its head to the side in greeting, ‘ _And Prince Legolas. It has been a long time since I have shown myself, but you have proven yourself more than worthy, and that was only on Earth. I must admit that I know little of your otherworldly adventures as my Sight does not reach that far, even for the family I protect.’_

Harry reached back and found Legolas’ hand, then knotted their fingers together and squeezed, pulling his love even closer by his side as he stood and listened.

Harry bowed his head in turn, Legolas mimicking his actions at his side, and said with a little unease, “It is a pleasure to meet you, My Lady.”

_‘Seryca. My name is Seryca, Prince Erisdîr. And you and your spouse are the first in the Potter line to see me since I vowed to protect your family almost a millennia ago.’_

_‘Whoa,’_ Harry repeated Legolas’ earlier assessment. He wasn’t even sure where to begin with that one.

Legolas, though, seemed to have no such troubles.

“The Potter family is over a millennia old?”

Seryca’s eyes sparkled with mirth at the blond elf. _‘At least. They were one of the first human families to receive the gift of magic; a well-kept secret in itself, since Merlin managed to inadvertently reveal a lot in his old age.’_

“My family knew Merlin?” Harry asked. For some reason he had assumed that Merlin had been a wizard alone in a time before magic truly existed, and only his great deeds had survived.

 _‘Yes. Though I always thought your ancestor, Denholm Potter was a much more powerful wizard and better leader. He knew how to keep a secret from the Muggles better, a concept Merlin always had trouble with, what with running off to Camelot and becoming bosom buddies with their king, no less,’_ she said, and Harry could more than detect the disdain in her voice. _‘ Yes that kingdom needed help, but the only one worse at keeping a secret than Merlin was Arthur; those two were made for each other.’_

Harry blinked. Oh. He certainly hadn’t been expecting _that._

Legolas, however, who had no preconceived notion of Camelot or King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, magical or otherwise, could only sense Harry’s shock and had no trouble asking his next question. “If Denholm was such a great wizard, then why did you wait until now to show yourself to one of the Potter line?”

 _‘To answer that,’_ Seryca paused and seemed to take great delight in her role as she did so, with Harry perceiving a smile in her voice, _‘I would like to tell a short story that spans several ages.’_

Harry wondered how that could be considered short, but wasn’t about to stop the phoenix, curious to see what tale she had to tell. He and Legolas nodded and then waited with bated breath as she began.

_‘You already know the story of the three Peverell brothers and their encounter with Death.’_

Harry nodded, he remembered well his chat with Xenophilius Lovegood and the man’s subsequent betrayal in an attempt to save his daughter. Those were dark times, he thought, often having wondered how he, Hermione, and Ron had made it through that year relatively unscathed. That is, if you didn’t count the number of dangerous life-or-death battles they’d thrown themselves into, or the part where Harry actually died and came back to life to finish off Voldemort.

Dark times, indeed.

Harry winced as he realised that while nearly 50 years had passed for him since that time, it had been little more than a decade for the rest of the wizarding world and his friends. He wondered if they were completely recovered yet or just hiding it well. Harry pushed that thought back for later when they saw Hermione and Ron again, and returned his attention to Seryca.

_‘What the story doesn’t tell is what became of the Deathly Hallows after their masters’ last and final encounter with Death._

_‘The brothers were seventh generation magic users, the Peverells being as old as the Potters, and just as prominent. All three of them had known that wizards, no matter how powerful or smart, were not immortal, and that something had to be done to ensure the Hallows were not lost. The plan was to pass them onto their daughters or nieces, who would carry a different name, and keep them safe that way. But of course, even the best laid plans of mice and men often fail.’_

Harry’s mind flashed to Rita Skeeter’s book on Dumbledore; the man’s plans with Grindelwald, his ideas for the Greater Good, and his attempts to manage Harry’s life from the moment he dropped baby Harry off on the Dursleys’ doorstep.

_‘Antioch Peverell was able to hold the wand for five years before it was stolen from him as a result of his own greed for power and less than subtle boasting. Unfortunately, he did not take the time to secure his gift and had no heir to continue his lineage. The Elder Wand was lost for centuries until it resurfaced in the early 20th century.’_

Harry didn't need further explanation on that, and neither did Legolas. His portending thoughts of Dumbledore re-awoke painful memories for Harry; the funeral at Hogwarts, visions of Gregorovitch in Voldemort’s mind, and the Final Battle coming to the forefront of his thoughts.

_‘The second brother, Cadmus, committed suicide from using the Resurrection Stone not long after he received it without making any efforts to safeguard it beforehand. Luckily, the youngest and last brother, Ignotus, was much more cautious and wisest of the three. He took the stone after finding his brother, and hid both Hallows away, never speaking of them again._

_‘The cloak, it was_ said _, he passed onto his son. What was not known was that Ignotus had three children, one son...and two daughters._

_‘He alone of the three brothers kept to the plan and passed the cloak to his eldest daughter, and the stone to his youngest. The son became the sole heir of the Peverell line and carried on the noble name. The youngest daughter, who took the stone, married the heir to the Slytherin Family. The eldest daughter, who received the cloak, married a Potter.’_

Seryca nodded down to the Crest she was perched on. _‘Notice something about the shape; not seen on your typical coat of arms?’_

It was a triangle.

And then it clicked for Harry; the triangle, the sign of the Deathly Hallows, and the Potters being descendants of Ignotus Peverell and owners of the Cloak of Invisibility. How had he not seen this right away?

“So the Potters were not just the eventual owners of the cloak through some twist of Fate and mixing bloodlines down the road?” Legolas asked, putting into words what Harry’s had been led to believe through his Horcrux Hunt.

Tacit silence was their response. Harry’s family had been older than anyone living had realised.

But perhaps if they had realised, they would not be as old as they are now either. And Harry – Erisdîr – was now putting an end to a line older than Merlin himself, and not just because he had married a man who was neither wizard nor Muggle; he had chosen to live in another world. It was unlikely that Valar intervention had been a possible problematic scenario for Ignotus and his brothers when they had been planning this all out to protect the Hallows. Only...

“I don’t have the cloak. It was left here when I was sent to Middle Earth; Ron and Hermione probably have it now,” he said to himself, assuming that one or both of them had taken what little possessions he had owned in the wizarding world. “The stone I lost in the Forbidden Forest on Hogwarts’ grounds, and the wand I returned to Dumbledore’s tomb.”

If phoenixes could smile, Harry was sure this one would be right now.

_‘Yes, all correct. But you’re forgetting one thing: You are still their master. Just because you rejected your title does not mean that should you call for them, the cloak, the stone, and the wand, would not be in your hand in an instant.’_

Harry raised his hand, suddenly feeling compelled to do just that. Harry would recognise the feeling as instinct, the fight or flight part of his brain; specifically, the one occupied by magic. It was instinctual magic that answered to no rational thought and sang from his very blood. It was only the equally powerful assertion in his mind that rejected them, all the Hallows, indisputably that had him furiously pushing his hand back down to his side.

Seryca watched the odd display without comment before continuing.

_‘There has not been a Master of Death in all the time the Hallows have been at large. And I recognise that you have made many sacrifices to ensure that there is not one ever again. But just because you have rejected them and have chosen to leave Earth does not mean that this world is safe from them. They are still deadly objects that could do irreparable damage with a wizard finding just one of the Hallows; even at their weakest, they are still enormously powerful.’_

Even after all this, his work still wasn’t over. Just by letting the Hallows stay on Earth he was running a risk of them being found and used again, even though they would forever recognise Harry as their master.

They were still a threat to wizards everywhere.

Harry sighed. Even after all this, one conversation with a phoenix had him feeling like Harry Potter again, the unlucky orphan being handed a destiny beyond his years, though he no longer felt as young and naïve, thankfully. But it was perhaps the fact that he now had more years than before, more understanding, more love that had him saying the following words that he’d promised himself he’d never say blindly again.

“What must I do?”

Legolas squeezed his hand and pressed up against Harry’s side. _“_ Only you and hobbits _,_ ” he said softly as he looked fondly at Harry. “Learn all you can about them and even after a hundred years they still surprise you.” 

Harry recognised those words from Frodo’s part in _Lord of the Rings_ , the words he’d written that Gandalf had said to him the night the old wizard had told him about the One Ring. But instead of giving into the gravity of the situation, Harry felt the need to add a bit of gaiety to the atmosphere.

“We haven’t known each other for a hundred years yet. I think old age is finally getting to you if you’ve forgotten that much.”

“And we will never get to even a hundred if you keep being so irresponsibly brave like this,” Legolas replied, taking Harry face in his hands and kissing him. “What am I going to do with you?”

“First of all,” Harry said, wagging his finger at his spouse with a put-upon frown, “It’s not irresponsible, quite the opposite, actually – not that a silly elf like you would know such a thing,” he teased hollowly, “And second, you knew exactly what you were getting into from the very start, so I am hardly inclined to take pity on you at the moment. Besides,” he shrugged, “we’ve survived through much worse before. Don’t be such a worrywart,” he admonished with a shake of his head. “Now,” Harry turned around and slipped his arm through Legolas’, fixing his eyes on Seryca. Turning his head back to Legolas, he smiled and said, “Make yourself useful for once and pay attention.”

Still staring at the side of Harry’s head, Legolas rolled his eyes and smiled back, “I’ll try.” Turning to Seryca as well, he asked, “What must we do?”

_‘I believe it will be much simpler than either of you are dreading, though I do admire the commendable valour shown. When it is time for you to go again, you will call all the Hallows back to you, and leave Earth for the last time, taking them and me with you back to Middle Earth, for good.’_

Seryca adjusted her footing on her perch as she looked carefully at Harry, and then Legolas, letting the gravity of her words sink in. They would be taking back to Middle Earth not only the Deathly Hallows, curse of the wizarding world, but a spirited phoenix as long lived as the elves to boot.

For some reason, Harry didn't think anyone in the wizarding world would be happy with their intended plans. The only question left now was how much longer they would stay on Earth, and how he would tell Ron and Hermione they would be leaving again, never to come back.

Several hours later saw Harry and Legolas emerging from Gringotts’ gilded doors out into the daylight once more. And the first stop on their list was _Fortescue’s_ _Ice Cream Parlour_.

Harry gazed down at the thick Potter Family ring that had appeared on his right ring finger the moment he’d accepted his status as Head of Potter House. It was amazing how much they’d done in so little time.

Seryca had promised to sort things in the Potter vault between what could be left here and what was too dangerous to stay in the wizarding world without a Potter Family Head present. Those items, along with the Hallows and the phoenix herself, would be going back home with Legolas and Harry when the time came. The rest of the Potter valuables and gold, including the Black Vault, was currently in the paperwork process of being bequeathed to the newly established vault of one Ms Hermione Granger-Weasley. 

They had soon found out after securing a plan and leaving the Potter Vault that once Sirius’ name had been officially cleared, Harry was formally made the head of the Black Family and given access to all their accounts, including that of the Lestrange’s. The irony of the timing of everything was maddening, but Harry figured he wouldn’t have known about it in time to make use of the information anyway, so it was no use griping about it now.

If Harry had heard about this prior to the nightmare that was their seventh year, he probably would have thrown a tantrum worthy of Dumbledore’s office. Thankfully he was no longer as volatile with a Horcrux in his head and was even able to grimly chuckle at the unlucky irony of the entire situation that had befallen him as a teenager, when he was just technically on the cusp of adulthood. Whoever had decided that 17 years of age equated to able maturity was completely daft. Yes, they had been mature, but hardly able, and only just willing.

“I’ve missed this,” Harry said as he stuck his spoon into his sundae. There were few things Middle Earth didn't have that Harry missed, his friends being in a different category entirely, but ice cream was definitely one of them. He supposed he was lucky that the Dursleys had been so dead set against doing little more than feeding and clothing him with the barest effort; one could almost say he had little to really miss besides a handful of treasured people.

“I can’t really see why,” Legolas was looking down at his dish in confusion as though he wasn't sure what judgement to pass on the dessert just yet. Harry had recommended a scoop of pistachio knowing of his partner’s aversion to sweet things and love of nuts. Unfortunately for Legolas, ice cream was sweet by nature. But at least Harry knew his dish of triple nut chocolate fudge with whipped cream and pecans was safe from prying spoons.

“This is hardly a good substitute for a strong draft of miruvor,” Legolas said, continuing to glance dubiously at his sweet, having not touched more than a spoonful since he sat down with it.

“Fine. I wanted some ice cream and used you to get it. But you can’t say it’s too sweet.” Harry leant over and used his fudge-covered spoon to scoop a bit out of Legolas’ and try it for himself, ignoring Legolas’ cringe as flecks of chocolate sauce mixed in with the light green ice cream. He shook his head as he let it melt in his mouth. “That’s hardly sweeter than the sugared nuts you favour.”

Legolas looked down at his dish and the twice-bitten mound of ice cream before admitting, “It’s cold.”

Harry’s loud, delightful laughter that, like most elves, sounded like the sweet ringing of bells or the cheerful crash of ocean waves upon the shore caught the attention of most of the patrons in the shop. Almost every head swivelled in the direction of the pair, freezing mid-bite, mid-conversation, and even mid-chew to look at what had caused such an oddly enchanting sound.

But for once, the hyper attention of the wizarding world did not deter or embarrass Harry in the slightest. He rode out the wave of laughter without a care, completely ignoring Legolas’ sour look, before finally settling down and falling silent.

Legolas had realised by this point how foolish his statement was, but did not deign to respond to his husband and instead pushed his dish away from him across the table. He was no more interested in drinking ice cream soup than he was eating cold spoonfuls of the stuff, and simply watched resignedly as Harry finished his with an ever-present grin on his face.

It was a good thing Harry did not pick at his food like a bird, as some elves had habit to do, because he didn't have to wait for long before they were cleaning up and heading out back into the Alley.

Legolas gave the wizarding establishment one last long and mournful look. He doubted he would ever see the likes of such a place again and was reluctant to leave just yet.

“We’ll be back before we return home,” Harry reminded him, pulling him out onto the streets and leading him to disappear into the growing, early afternoon crowd. “And we’ll visit in between if you like as well; we’ll even check out Hogsmeade, the only all-wizarding settlement in Britain.”

That seemed to pique Legolas’ interest, and Harry made a mental note to see what other wizarding establishments they could check out from their temporary home while they were here. He himself was interested in seeing how other wizards lived, doubting that the British standard was it.

Harry looked over at Legolas and smirked before grabbing his arm and pulling them into a small niche between two buildings that were slanting dangerously towards each other, most likely being kept up with magic alone, like many things in the wizarding world. Reaching over, he caught Legolas’ chin as he turned to ask Harry what he was doing, and pulled him in for a long, slow, amorous kiss, which Legolas gladly returned in kind. 

Pulling apart, Harry kept their faces close as he breathed, “There, your pick-me-up until we can get our hands on some _miruvor_.” Legolas’ pleased smile told him that he would no longer have to worry about that. “Glad that worked,” Harry said, running his fingers along the side of Legolas’ face, “Now I won’t have to bother with trying to find you a small, barely-alcoholic drink that actually tastes good. I doubt we’d be able to find anything up to your high standards at _The Leaky Cauldron_ anyway,” Harry said softly.

Legolas took the ribbing in good nature and replied, “Alright, I think I’ve had enough of these busy streets now.” He looked out from the side alley onto a scene of a child tugging on his mother’s robes, wailing about a broom he wanted to ride a few stores back. “Now how about we take that magic key –”

“A portkey.”

“ – to the beautiful forest Vagnahk was telling us about –”

“New Zealand.”

“ – and stay there until Ron and Hermione return?”

“I like the sound of that,” Harry agreed, even though the plan had already been set.

They weren’t worried about staying close by in England anymore. Earlier in Gringotts, they’d sent a note to Hermione’s flat that would alert them by touch the moment the newlyweds were home by either Ron or Hermione picking it up; a trick of goblin magic that had had both Harry and Legolas amazed.

Even after years of being in the magical world, learning new magics, and coming into his own as a powerful wizard, Harry could still honestly say that magic continued to surprise him in new ways. This time it had been goblin magic, and he could honestly say with much certainty that he was relieved to be on their good lists again.

Glancing out at the Alley again to see that no one was paying them any mind and that they were well hidden enough, Harry took out one of the small portkeys he’d gotten from Vagnahk, the one marked, New Zealand.

Now they had a couple of weeks to look forward to in the forests of New Zealand. It would be a much more comfortable stay than the old Black residence by far, but Harry was just looking forward to curling up on a thick tree branch and getting a good night’s sleep tonight under the naked moon and fresh air.

Legolas mirrored that sentiment and reached out to touch, with only a hint of hesitation this time, the warped bottle cap in Harry’s palm. “Hold on tight,” Harry warned, repeating his words from earlier, “I don’t think you’re going to like this much either.” Harry knew he wasn’t that fond of any methods of wizarding travel, but at least he was more prepared than Legolas.

Legolas took the extra precaution of grabbing tightly onto Harry’s arm with his other hand. Once Harry was sure they were ready, he glanced around one last time before speaking the activation spell.

They disappeared from the Alley instantly as everything whirled away in a wild wind of colour and sound.


	8. Blindfolds and Prejudice

Harry methodically scraped a finger softly across the bark of a Miro tree and leant his head against the trunk behind him. Closing his eyes, he listened to the early morning birds greeting the new day.

He had woken earlier this morning to the silent magical alarm that had alerted him to Ron and Hermione’s return to England. Legolas was still asleep, and Harry planned to let him stay that way for a while more, sneaking out of bed and padding outside without a sound. He’d been exhausted the day before when Harry had taken them to a hidden wizarding village of the Maori people, who had surprisingly accepted the two of them as they were. The Maori were apparently much better acquainted with different magical beings than their British counterparts.

It turned out being one of their favourite places to visit; the culture was so rich, its people so old, keeping important traditions alive and well. Though a small village with not much in the ways of monetary means, in the ways of magic and societal cooperation - which worked hand in hand - they were thriving. Harry wished they could have stayed longer, but hadn’t wanted to overstay their welcome either.

As it was, they collapsed hard into bed in the early hours of the morning. And then as luck would have it, Harry was woken just a couple hours later by the charm going off. After realising that Ron and Hermione had returned and that he and Legolas would be going back to England soon, leaving their little piece of paradise here, he couldn’t get back to sleep.

Still, that didn’t mean he wasn’t tired. He was vainly trying to supress a yawn when he heard the door to the small cottage open behind him and Legolas’ soft footsteps approaching. “Good morning, handsome,” Legolas said softly, climbing up to Harry’s branch and settling in beside him, kissing his neck in greeting.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Harry returned, reaching up to run a hand through Legolas’ bedraggled hair and moving a bit to make room for his lover, pulling his knee closer to his chest, as his other leg continued to swing down on the other side.

Legolas leant all his weight against Harry, dropping his head tiredly onto Harry’s shoulder

“You were just as tired as me this morning,” Legolas mumbled out with accusatory suspicion, while his eyes slowly closed, watching hypnotically as Harry continued to run the finger of his other hand, not in Legolas’ hair, up and down the bark between his legs.

“Hermione and Ron are home,” Harry answered heavily by way of explanation.

He wanted to see his friends again, of course, but it wasn’t just that. The Valar hadn’t specified how long they would be staying on Earth, but Harry had the distinct feeling that once the story was told and Harry had finished all the business he needed to in the wizarding world, they would be pulled back home to Middle Earth.

But there was still so much he hadn't done here, so much time lost with his friends that he would never have the chance to get back. They were all such different people now and they would never get to truly know each other again like Harry would have hoped. In many ways, though Harry loved them greatly no matter what, he felt like he was paying homage to a childhood friendship long past, doing his bit so they could finally move on with their lives after all this time. He still felt connected to them in many ways. You simply didn’t live through throwing yourself in Death’s way multiple times for someone special without making that lasting bond. He couldn't have asked for better friends, and he knew that.

They would always be close, no matter what, no matter what world they lived on, but he could also feel that gap between them now that wasn’t there before. It reminded him of all the things he’d had to give up in order to make a home for himself on Middle Earth and accept the responsibilities of his Chosen Title. Some days he did wonder what would have happened if he’d rejected it and demanded the Valar send him back to Earth. Wondering where his life would be now. But then he would think about all he had gained with Legolas, and all comparisons fell short against that.

Legolas wound an arm around his waist and squeezed him tightly to his side and Harry turned his head to lay a kiss on Legolas’ forehead in return. Legolas didn’t say anything for several minutes and Harry felt his own conflicting emotions surge as they were joined by Legolas’; his lover seemed to understand well the myriad dark corners Harry’s thoughts were going. The choice was out of their hands and it was still difficult to think about.

For another thing, they had come to love their little house, hidden by magic and thick forestry at the base of a small mountain here. Harry had relished in showing Legolas his home world, especially as most of it had been new to him as well. They loved the privacy and solitude, with just the two of them and no one else. Earth had so much more to discover. And while they would never want to live here permanently - Middle Earth would always be there home - they wished they could have more time.

Harry sighed and leant back against Legolas, pushing their combined weight back to the middle of the trunk, lest they accidently fall off.

“Let’s give them a day or two to settle back in,” Harry suggested, “And then we’ll go back. The story’s only just begun really.” They still had time, he reminded himself, and then added as an afterthought, “I bet Hermione is ready to tear me apart by now.”

“Mm,” Legolas nodded in agreement.

“Mm?” Harry turned his head, supressing an amused smile as he attempted to playfully glare down at Legolas, whose eyes were still closed, looking half asleep. “You’re supposed to defend me and say you won’t let that happen.”

“Mm,” Legolas repeated, pushing closer up against Harry, “That too,” he agreed, followed closely by another long yawn.

Harry hummed in thought and muttered, “Wonder why that doesn’t make me feel any better.” Though he didn’t really expect an answer seeing as Legolas was as good as asleep, lost in thought in his own world. Harry let him to it, occasionally bumping heads and silently sharing a thought or two.

In that way, the morning passed them by, as swiftly as an autumn leaf on a blustery day.

Finally, Harry broke the comfortable silence and softly asked, “So what do you want to do today?”

. ... . ….. . … .

It was at least three days later before Harry and Legolas gave New Zealand an official farewell and disapparated from their little haven. They’d spent one last day exploring Diagon Alley and all the other side alleys that branched off it, and another with the Maori wizards, who Legolas admitted he was going to miss the most. They had talked about possibly returning before they left, but Legolas had put his foot down and insisted that Harry dedicate the rest of the time to catching up with those he considered his ‘wizarding family’. Which in turn led them to apparating into the small foyer in Hermione’s flat, which was really only a four-tile area in front of the front door, with their eyes closed, hoping they weren’t catching the newlyweds in some wicked act or another.

“You two decent?” Harry called in, daring to open his eyes when he heard footsteps coming from the next room.

“Harry!” Hermione, thankfully looking only a little more dishevelled than normal, flung herself forward the moment she saw Harry in the doorway, wrapping him in a tight bear hug. He spun her around for good measure and then looked over her shoulder to smile at Ron in greeting, asking how their honeymoon had gone.

“Brilliant, mate.” Ron said, going over to shake hands with Legolas, “Though it took a fair bit to get her to leave in the first place after she realised you two had disappeared. Where’d you go off to, anyway?”

“New Zealand,” Legolas answered for them, and Harry could already feel the regret from both of them for having to leave it behind. “It was a true gift of the gods. It almost felt like being back in Middle Earth,” he informed them.

Ron raised his eyebrows as if to ask, ‘really’, and Hermione opened her mouth, no doubt picking up on the comparison to Middle Earth and wanting to ask more geographical related questions for the book already cooking up in her mind. But Harry just nodded and smiled, pushing Hermione from behind towards the living room.

“Yes, it was perfect. Just the holiday we needed. But we figured it best to come back before you decided to start tracking us down yourself,” Harry added, looking directly at Hermione as he spoke.

That was all it took for Hermione to squeal in excitement, then seize his arm and drag him behind her into the sitting room. “That’s right. _You_ have a story to finish,” she said in that demanding tone Harry knew all too well. “And you’ve no excuse to skip out on us this time,” she said threateningly, glaring for good measure as she pushed him down on the couch, silently telling him to stay with one finger pointed his way.

  
“I’ll make the tea,” Ron offered quickly, looking on in amusement from the doorway.

“And I’ll help,” Legolas offered, getting a glare from Harry for daring to abandon him with the madwoman still staring him down.

“Fine,” Harry conceded, sitting up straight to regain some dignity, though he could tell he had already lost this one, “But no more interruptions this time. Or I won’t answer any of your questions at the end,” he warned, hoping it was enough of a threat to his bookworm friend to prove effective. “And if you _do_ stop interrupting,” he began with just the proper dramatics to get her interested, eyebrows lowering from their defensive pose and her face opening a bit in curiosity, “I’ll answer all the questions you have at the _end_. Within reason, of course,” he promised.

Hermione pursed her lips together in a gesture reminiscent of McGonagall. “Alright,” she promised, “But I warn you, I have a lot of questions.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “You say that as though it’s new information to me,” he said with a friendly smile, already knowing a fair few of the questions she intended to ask. He also was already working out how to sidestep some of them and withhold some important information he wouldn't be allowed to tell her. But she didn’t need to know that.

They spent the next several minutes catching up and sharing stories of the past couple weeks, with Ron yelling in from the kitchen as he and Legolas prepared the tea and a light snack. When they were all gathered together again, fed and satisfied, sipping at their tea, Hermione gave Harry a pointed look before settling back in her seat and making herself comfortable.

Getting the ‘subtle’ hint, Harry did the same and took the moment to pick up where they’d left off.

. ... . ….. . … .

“A blindfold!”

Gimli’s shout was loud enough to wake the entire forest, Harry was sure, it definitely was enough to bring Harry to full alertness, as he’d been groggily rubbing at his eyes just moments before. After Haldir’s ‘welcome’ from the Lady of the Golden Woods several nights ago, letting him know that she knew of his presence and wanted a word with him, Harry hadn’t been able to sleep much. 

Haldir hadn’t said another word since then, but every evening Harry could feel his gaze on the back of his neck throughout the night. It was more than a bit disconcerting, and after three nights of little to no sleep, Harry’s nerves were on high alert. He was feeling tetchy and irritable and only just keeping from snapping at the few who made the effort to talk to him.

Frodo, the only one who looked more tired than Harry lately, was not doing much better. The haunted look Harry could see in his eyes every time he thought no one was looking assured Harry that whatever quest this company had undertaken, Frodo was at the centre of it.

He and Harry had banded together from the start as not being morning people, among other things. Harry suspected their outward megrims were keeping the rest of the group away until at least late morning. They didn’t talk much, but instead found silent comfort in the company of a kindred soul. 

They had both been walking silently together towards the back of the group, Sam only a little way ahead, when Gimli had shouted loud enough to be heard by all the Elves of Lothlórien. Apparently, Gimli had been told that he would have to be blindfolded through the rest of Lothlórien due to the Elves’ distrust of all Dwarfs. 

Harry thought it was awfully ridiculous, given that any number of them among the Fellowship could be a spy, and suspecting it of only one dwarf was foolhardy. That was until he heard they would all be blindfolded further into the journey. The dwarf was just being singled out first.

“The agreement was made without my consent,” Gimli continued to argue, glaring daggers at the elves from his place beside Boromir and the other two hobbits. “I will not walk blindfolded like a beggar or a prisoner,” he said fiercely, tightly gripping his axe and daring any elf to try and get near him. “I am no spy! My folk have never had dealings with any of the servants of the Enemy. Neither have we done harm to the Elves. I am no more likely to betray you than Legolas, or any other of my companions.”

Harry had to agree with him there, even if he and Gimli had sparsely traded more than a few words together out of necessity. If nothing else, all arguments between Legolas and Gimli aside, it was clear to Harry that Gimli was nothing if not loyal to his companions and the quest they were undertaking. And his loyalty and love of the hobbits was only matched by that of Boromir, a true, steadfast companion, even if they didn’t trust Harry and Harry heartily returned the sentiment. That above all else was the main reason Harry didn’t step in, he didn't think the dwarf would take kindly to Harry speaking up for him. 

“I do not doubt you,” Haldir said in what Harry supposed was a soothing voice, “Yet this is our law. I am not the master of the laws of Lórien and cannot set it aside for special circumstances for whatever reason. I have done much in letting you set foot in Celebrant as it is.”

Unfortunately, Gimli wasn’t to be appeased by such small blessings. Harry watched as the hobbits shifted uneasily from foot to foot, not sure what to do. Boromir seemed even more unsure of himself than usual since he first set foot in the forest. His eyes had taken on that wide, deer in the headlights look, and looked upon all the elves as though each and every one of them were each the Enemy. 

Aragorn, for his part, looked like he wanted to bury his head in his hands and groan, but instead was doing his best to try and mediate between Haldir and Gimli.

“I will go forward free,” the dwarf proclaimed loudly over all other noise, planting his feet obstinately apart, while gripping and releasing the axe at his side, “or I will go back and seek my own land, where I am known to be true of word, though I may perish alone in the wilderness during the journey.”

Harry thought that was a bit dramatic. Yes, there were orcs – those ugly, smelly monsters of creatures that he thought weren’t far off from a mix of a troll and a house elf – but he seemed like he could take care of himself out in the wild just fine. Still, it wasn't the advisable way to go.

“You can’t go back now,” Haldir said with an exasperated sigh, though he spoke no less sternly, “You have come thus far, you must be brought before the Lord and Lady, who alone shall judge you. _They_ shall decide whether you shall stay or can leave. And as it is, you cannot cross the rivers again. Behind you there are now secret sentinels who would sooner shoot you for breathing too loudly without a passing thought.”

Gimli drew himself up to his full height, which still just reached Harry’s chin, but he still managed to make a point that he wasn’t budging an inch forward if they even dared to tie a blindfold over his eyes. 

Harry didn’t know which side would be best to tackle first, both were adamant in their stance. But if someone didn’t say something soon they would either have an all-out war against the Elves on their hands or a dead dwarf, and neither options were advisable.

It was just as well, though, as Legolas was horrible at keeping his tongue wherever the dwarf was concerned and wasted no time to cry, “A plague on Dwarves and their stiff necks, then! Or do you expect us to just sit here all day and twiddle our thumbs while you learn to take a blow to your pride?” 

“But!” Gimli raised his voice, overriding Legolas as he looked pointedly in Haldir’s direction, “I will be content if Legolas here shares my blindness,” he said, crossing his arms in the universal sign of stubbornness.

Harry rolled his eyes and opened his mouth, ready to offer the lot of them be blindfolded if it meant actually getting somewhere today, but again, Legolas’ tongue was quicker yet.

“I am an Elf,” Legolas cried in outrage, his face contorted grossly in disdain, “a _kinsman_ here. What skin is it off my nose if you prefer to be left behind?”

Harry sighed and shook his head. He was really getting sick of this elf. Did he think himself so amazing that the sun shone out of his arse? Yes, he could walk across a thin rope like he was walking across water and had an angelic voice that put the phoenix to shame in Harry’s opinion, but he wasn’t different from any other elf. They all could do stuff like that. What made Legolas act like he was a blessed gift from the gods, or the stupid Valar that had sent Harry here?

Harry thought they were all supposed to be part of a team, a Fellowship created under the name of brotherhood, united under one goal. Why would Legolas purposely try to sabotage that goal in the name of some petty racism? For that was all it looked like to Harry.

“Now let us cry, a plague on the stiff necks of Elves,” Aragorn interjected before another blow could be exchanged. “We shall all go blindfolded, then,” he said in a firm tone that brooked no argument. “Let no one in the Fellowship not find themselves on equal footing, be it blindness, deafness, muteness –”

“Or height?” Legolas hissed softly, looking directly at Gimli with an angry fire in his eyes.

Aragorn deliberately ignored the jibe and turned to Haldir. “Have you blindfolds for all nine?”

Haldir frowned, looking between Legolas and Gimli with distaste before saying, “No, only a couple, unfortunately. We did not foresee this as being a problem until later.”

Harry took that as his cue to step forward before more madness could break out, splitting the Fellowship before the end of the morning. “I can take care of that,” he said, pulling out his wand and walking over to Rumil, who held the pieces of thick black cloth in his hands. “May I?”

At a nod from Haldir, his brother handed over the blindfolds and all watched in fascination as Harry silently performed a duplicating spell until he held nine identical blindfolds in his hand, which he offered back to Haldir.

“These should hold up for several days or so. If we’re not at our destination by that time, I can redo the spell to strengthen it.”

“Thank you, Master Wizard,” Aragorn said with a grateful nod at Harry, and then turned to Haldir, “Come, bind our eyes, Haldir.”

Neither Gimli nor Legolas gave protest, though it was clear that Legolas was silently seething to be denied such a treasure as to freely look upon the sights of Lothlórien. Though Harry was not sure what the Naith was, all of his companions seemed to be under the impression that it was a great wonder of the world. All but Gimli and Boromir that is, who seemed to be showing solidarity of their own in the face of the Elves. Harry wondered how that would play out for the Company as a whole in the long run, but wasn’t about to ruffle any feathers unnecessarily by mentioning it if he could avoid it.

“A merry bunch of fools we shall all look,” Gimli grumbled as Haldir came his way, “Haldir leading us all along on a string like many blind beggars with one dog!”

Harry rolled his eyes and let his eyes be bound with as much grace as could be afforded him. As a total darkness settled over his vision, darkness so thick that he knew only magic could be at work on such a thin piece of fabric, he heard Legolas moan, “Alas, for the folly of these days! Here all are enemies of the one Enemy, and yet I must walk blind, while the sun is merry in the woodland under leaves of gold!”

“Folly it may seem,” Haldir agreed, placing part of the rope in Harry’s hand to follow, “Indeed, in nothing is the power of the Dark Lord more clearly shown than in the estrangement that divides all those who still oppose him. Yet so little faith and trust do we find now in the world beyond Lothlórien, unless maybe Rivendell, that we dare not by our own trust endanger our land. We live now upon an island amid many perils, and our hands are more often upon bowstrings than upon the harp.”

Harry could hear the ache in his voice strongly and knew he could understand well the harsh sentiment. The wizarding world too was broken at Voldemort’s hand and Grindelwald’s before that; friend against friend, family members not sure if they could trust each other. Nobody was spared, ‘winning’ side or ‘losing’. They all lost in one way or another. And just when he thought it was coming to an end, that some peace was finally coming his way, he found himself in another world wracked in the midst of yet another war. Another Enemy. There was always an Enemy sowing discord somewhere; Harry was just lucky enough to keep finding himself in the middle of it. 

Harry started as the rope jerked in his hands, gently telling him to start moving again. 

As they walked easily along the surprisingly smooth and straight path, Harry heard whispers, light footfalls, and the sweet sound of running water all around him. He listened as up ahead, Merry spoke to Haldir of his home, the Shire, which was close to the Sea and another Elf-haven. But otherwise he just listened and tilted his head back to catch the sun’s warm rays on his skin, and trust the elf leading the rope to not lead him astray.

. ... . ….. . … .

The first night, however, was a bit unsettling.

They were not allowed to take off their blindfolds even for sleep, and took to curling up on beds of moss, unable to climb into the flets above.

But even to one used to poor eyesight, not being able to see anything at all as he woke up the next morning momentarily sent him into panic mode. His just waking mind supplied him with memories of being at the Dursleys, of being locked in his cupboard for days on end after his ‘loving family’ had caught him doing some freak-worthy bit of accidental magic, or just because Dudley blamed Harry for things he hadn’t wanted to get in trouble for. Harry had been the scapegoat, the punching bag, the human guinea pig, and anything else the Dursleys had wanted him to be. 

But going days on end with no light had been one of the worst punishments he’d had to endure. Dudley had even taken to taping construction paper over the slots in the door once he’d discovered how much Harry hated being left in the dark. His little cupboard under the stairs provided more shadows, scary shapes, and nightmare-inducing monsters than he cared to admit. And he swore that not all of them were just in his mind; and even the ones that were, they weren’t your run-of-the-mill monsters under the bed. They were as real as the Chamber of Secrets, or at least they had been.

Years later and time away from the place where his childhood nightmares resided had given Harry some clarity on the issue. He suspected that as much as his magic had helped him as a child, it had just as often created things to hurt him; not all the scars on his body had been _directly_ given by the Dursleys.

An involuntary shiver ran up Harry’s spine at the memories. Blinking rapidly, he tried futilely to dispel some of the darkness from his vision. But even as all the nightmares of his childhood surged in his mind, making him feel light headed and disoriented, near enough to pass out, Harry felt a soothing calm take over him. He did not question it until several moments later when the world finally stopped closing in on him and he could feel the soft mossy ground beneath him once again. He sat up and was profoundly grateful when the dizziness did not return, and his head remained clear. But that wasn’t all that he noticed.

Someone was singing softly close by.

As Harry listened, evening out his breath and straining his ears, words of Elvish flowed forth softly in a voice Harry thought he recognised. 

Without thinking, Harry opened his mouth and asked quietly, “What are you singing?”

The voice abruptly cut short and Harry imagined a head was turning his way.

Silence met his question and Harry figured it was still early in the morning for there was still a slight chill in the air and there were no other sounds from the company, other than deep breathing and a few snores Harry recognised as coming from the hobbits.

Finally, a voice Harry knew belonged to Legolas, though he wondered why he ever had any doubts otherwise, answered somewhat stiffly, “I was singing to the mallorn trees.”

“Oh,” Harry answered, suddenly feeling incredibly foolish with the blindfold on, not able to look properly at Legolas while having a conversation, and not sure what else to say. “You have a nice voice,” he said.

“Thank you,” Legolas answered after a moment. “It is a trait of my people.”

Harry nodded awkwardly, though he knew Legolas couldn’t see.

“Er, what are you doing up?” He asked, curious as to why he was not the only one awake at such an early hour. He had never been able to sleep for long periods of time, expect for at Hogwarts, and Harry suspected Hogwarts herself was to thank for that. 

“Elves do not need to sleep as often as you mortals,” Harry heard him answer, and again was given the impression that not only did Legolas think less of him for some reason, but also thought himself better in some way because he was an Elf.

Harry wrinkled his nose in disgust. It was like dealing with Malfoy and the issues of blood purity all over again and he didn’t think he could put up with that any more. No matter which world you were in, there would always be those who thought themselves above others.

“And you think that makes you better, then, do you?” Harry blurted out, making no effort to hide the disgust in his voice.

Silence once again met his declaration and Harry cursed his lack of vision preventing him from gauging the Elf’s reaction. He could feel his blood beginning to boil and rush in his ears, like he was back at Hogwarts and Malfoy had just called his best friend a filthy little mudblood, aristocratic sneer in place as he spat the disgusting name at Harry’s feet.

“I do not think such a thing,” Legolas said eventually, his voice reflecting not a little bit of shock and confusion. “What would make you to say that?”

Harry took another calming breath, telling himself that he was _not_ at Hogwarts and Legolas was obviously _not_ Malfoy. There was still a lot he didn’t know about this world, and he needed to keep his temper and stop jumping to conclusions.

Harry let out a deep breath and shrugged jerkily, again forgetting that Legolas could not see. “Well you don’t hide your animosity towards Gimli and Dwarves in general. You seem to think Elves are better than Dwarves, at least. And it’s no secret that you don’t trust me, not that I expect you to, but the derogative way you refer to me and the rest of the Company as ‘mortals’ is certainly telling in itself.”

Harry was further tempted to tell Legolas how the wizarding world regarded elves and knock the high elf down a few pegs to hear his race associated with creatures like...well, Kreacher. But he figured he had already made his point.

Harry took another deep breath, realising that the first had obviously done him no good in keeping the invectives to himself. He frowned, already hearing Hermione’s lecturing voice in his head, telling him to calm down, take a deep breath, and count to ten.

That stuff never worked for him, though, so he didn’t know why he bothered. He settled instead for chewing violently on his tongue and keeping the words in his throat. The elf rubbed him the wrong way for many reasons, but he was singularly tired of his holier-than-thou attitude that seemed to come all too easy to him whenever Gimli or Harry was around.

Harry turned his head and concentrated on the other noises around him, set to ignore Legolas for the time being, sure he had at least stunned Legolas into a shocked silence for the moment. His reply was no doubt not too far behind.

Harry heard one of the hobbits turn in their sleep and a snore became half muffled, morphing into a grunt. Harry could even hear Gimli muttering and grumbling incoherently, and Boromir whimpering slightly, a strange sound to hear from a man who normally came off as so strong and indestructible. But Harry had learned to trust his heightened senses, compensating for the lack of sight as he’d walked with the Company the day before, and he knew exactly which sounds were coming from which person with certainty. Aragorn alone was silent, and Harry guessed it had something to do with being a Ranger, though he still didn't understand what the title entailed exactly.

Tilting his head to the side, listening harder, he realised that Legolas still hadn’t moved. Or if he had, he did it in such a way that it was completely silent to Harry’s ears. It was possible, but Harry suspected he was still formulating a response.

He wasn’t disappointed.

“Elves and Dwarfs have been at odds since the Dwarfs awakened the darkness in Moria, what they call Durin’s Bane. It was the thing that killed Gandalf, a balrog.

“But you,” Legolas hesitated, and Harry got the impression the elf didn’t know what to call him, “You are a different matter entirely, one which I will not discuss, even here, a place where no Evil has ever laid its shadow or marred such fair lands with its dark taint of lust and power. Such are dark times that trust comes at a steep price, one which I am not sure I am willing to pay at the present.”

Well that certainly created more questions than it answered. Harry had the distinct feeling Legolas was referring to Harry’s first night with the Company and the weird words he’d spoken, almost as if on command, in response to Legolas’ cryptic message.

“But I do not think myself better than anyone else,” Legolas added quietly, almost whispering, though there was more than a trace of poorly concealed anger in his tone. His next words, however, were definitely sad and... he sounded disappointed. “I’m sorry I led you to think such a thing. I will do better in the future to adhere to proper decorum and keep such differences of opinion to myself.”

If Harry didn’t know any better, he would have thought that Legolas had moved further away. His voice was suddenly soft and faraway, yet so close and detached.

Now Harry was feeling distinctly uncomfortable; Legolas almost made it sound like he _owed_ Harry something. And why would he? He was just making an observation. Harry was used to people not liking him, not trusting him, and overall had lost faith in human opinion for the most part; he didn’t see Elves being that much different.

“It’s, uh, fine. I mean,” Harry shook his head, unsure where to go from here, “It’s nothing. I just – I guess. Never mind,” he huffed, feeling profoundly stupid and angry with himself, when he had set out to put Legolas in his place to begin with. Now he knew at least to never cross words with an elf. It would do him no good. And it left him with a headache and feeling decidedly unsatisfied and confused. Brilliant.

“And you?”

Harry started. Legolas still wanted to talk with him? “Me what?”

“Why are you up at this early hour?”

Harry fell back on the moss, pushing his head further into the ground. “I don’t know. I guess I just got up and...,” he trailed off. Panicked? Forgot where I was? Had a waking nightmare like I hadn’t had since I was little? “I heard you singing,” he supplied, shrugging helplessly. What else was there to say that he wouldn’t feel embarrassed about? Even Ron and Hermione didn’t know all the crap he’d put up with from the Dursleys, why would he tell Legolas, who already admitted he couldn’t tell Harry why it was he didn’t like him?

“Then I apologise for waking you,” Legolas replied, and Harry heard him shift against the bark of the tree he was undoubtedly leaning on. “It’s still a few hours ‘til morning. You should get your rest, we still have much walking to do yet before we reach Caras Galadhon.”

Harry took that as his cue to settle back down and try to close his eyes again, though truthfully he wasn’t sure if he could tell the difference between when they were closed or not. It was all just dark. But with the reminder that he needed his strength for the journey tomorrow, he did his best to clear his mind and fall back to sleep. 

Sometime later, Harry wasn’t really sure when, he thought he heard the soft sound of singing once again, but maybe that was just in his dreams.

. ... . ….. . … .

Haldir alerted them the moment they reached the far bank of the Silverlode, though the announcement seemed rather superfluous as Harry could immediately tell when their environment had changed. It was like stepping through a magical ward, one that prevented any sentient being with intentions of evil from coming through its barriers. Harry could practically feel the ripple in the air on his skin and then he was in another world entirely. The irony of that thought was not lost on him, but he knew that was the only way to explain it. They had reached the Naith.

And everything inside the barrier was...calm.

The ground became softer, the air Harry breathed in more enriching and invigorating, and any overlying feelings of mistrust, fear, and uncertainty dropped away, dissipating with the air itself without a thought. It was a bit like being under the _Imperius Curse_ without the instinctual, annoying voice in the back of his head telling him that this was wrong or unnatural. Because it wasn’t wrong or unnatural. It couldn't be. This was beyond perfect. No evil would dare tempt Fate here with false words of comfort and power. This was true Paradise Lost. It was no wonder the Elves insisted on blindfolding those not of their kind.

But even without his sight the experience was still wondrous, and Harry just let himself be swept away in it. His mind’s eye supplied images of what he assumed the Golden Age would have been like, thinking he couldn’t be that far off in a place where Elves resided. He’d enjoyed learning about Greek Mythology in primary school, and as it was part of classwork, there were books of fantasy and magic the Dursleys hadn’t been able to take away from him. And now he got to walk among the real thing!

He could easily imagine beautiful, stately beings dressed in robes of resplendent white and gold – no nakedness here, he hoped – walking about with a carefree air, with blossoms in their hair and around their wrists and ankles. The enchanting smells of sweet, delicately scented flowers and the musky aromas of moss, ferns, and greenery aided in his image as he breathed in deeply of the magic thrumming in the air.

As he idly visualised the sights to match the sounds, smells, and tastes he could sense around him, Harry listened to the conversation from the rest of the Company.

Behind him, Pippin was humming contentedly, keeping up a lively description of the Shire and stories of his and Merry’s many escapades. The two hobbits reminded him a bit of Fred and George, the two troublemakers of the group. And for once, Harry didn’t feel the familiar sting of loss at the thought of Fred. He hoped Fred was in a place like this, so peaceful that Evil dare not speak its name.

In front, Sam was telling stories that his old gaffer used to tell him when he was younger about the Elves. Harry decided not to mention what he knew about house elves, realising that no one would find the comparison remotely funny, and it was hardly the setting nor time to bring such inane similarities up. So he held his tongue.

Occasionally, one from the group would comment to verify or cast doubt on one story or another, as Sam seemed to have an endless supply of them, but otherwise left them alone as the hobbits’ voices vied for attention at once, filling the air with their laughter and excitement.

Listening to it all with half an ear, Harry felt a chuckle bubble up from the back of his throat and rumble silently in his chest. Their gaiety was contagious, and in that moment he couldn’t even fathom the possibility that war still existed and people still killed each other for any reason. The Horcrux was out of his head, Voldemort was gone, and he, Harry, might as well be dead because he’d never felt such peace while alive before. 

Concentrating on nothing else but the feeling of the warm sun on his face and the carefree, childish voices in his ear, Harry let himself relax and smile.

. ... . ….. . … .

A few days later, the Company and Haldir were halted by a small detail of guards, who had come to tell them that all the orcs that had followed them from the Mines of Moria into the forest had been destroyed. This announcement, quietly translated into Westron by Aragorn to the rest of the Company, was met with hearty cheers of approval and a few silent sighs of relief.

Their second message, though, brought the greatest joy and excitement, however. There had been word from the Lady that the Company had been deemed safe; the blindfolds could finally be removed, even Gimli’s.

Though he’d gotten used to the constant pitch-black darkness, no longer afraid or causing him nightmares since they’d made it to the Naith, Harry was still relieved to see the thing go.

As Harry made to reach up and undo the knot at the back of his head, he felt someone approach and step right into his personal bubble of space. Harry tensed and made to step away until he recognised Haldir’s voice speaking softly in his ear as nimble fingers stretched behind his head to remove the dark green cloth.

“The Lady is acting in good faith on your part, Master Wizard, as you are still an unknown entity. Do not make Lothlórien regret this act of trust.”

The cloth fell away from his eyes, allowing Harry to look up into Haldir’s face fully. But the moment he opened his eyes he immediately shut them again, the sudden onslaught of light on his retinas was burning. He blinked several times, letting his tears soothe the stinging and allow his eyes to adjust.

Finally feeling like he could look around without squinting, Harry directed his gaze to Haldir once more and nodded to show he understood. He knew what this meant and was not planning on testing the boundaries of their trust, especially as he had nowhere else to go. This world was still an anomaly to him, and he knew better than to do more than just watch and learn as he went along. Making waves and causing a stir was just plain suicidal at this point.

Though, Harry had gotten more than a hint that just by being considered one of the Company. Still, he was already causing a stir in the world of Middle Earth, even if he didn’t know the whole story yet or what each side was even fighting for. He figured it couldn't be kept from him much longer, though, and hoped the others in the Company, Aragorn he assumed, would see fit to remove yet another blindfold soon enough.

Haldir nodded in approval then and moved on without another word, allowing Harry his first real view of the Naith. It was like waking up to find oneself in another dream. Everything, down to the smallest gold and silver flowers dotting the ground was perfect.

Harry craned his neck back to gaze upon the mallorn trees planted in groups of tight circles across the surrounding lands. Each circle had a _flet_ of some type halfway up, all much more elaborate and fantastical than the ones Harry had seen so far. But it was more than that. Everything, from the grass beneath his feet to the bow of the trees and the blowing of the leaves seemed surreal. It was all there, and yet not tangible in the same way as the rest of the world Harry knew. The world around them seemed to have become muted and Harry wondered for a moment whether he hadn’t already lost some of the extra sensitivity he had gained at the loss of his sight, or whether or not this place dulled his senses somehow through the ambient magic of the Elves, while enchanting and stimulating them at the same time. There was a certain serenity in the very air too, which made him feel a bit giddy despite his continued instincts to be alert for danger at all moments.

In short, it was as magnificent as he’d imagined, and more.

Aragorn came up to where Harry was standing still, taking it all in, and said softly, “This is one of the most sacred lands of the Elves in Middle Earth. I take it you have never been to a dwelling so fair as one protected by Elves.”

Harry shook his head dumbly, his eyes still sweeping this way and that, finding the landscape moving and changing every time he looked, like it was too pure to remain solid and in one shape for long. He could see why this place was so sacred to the Elves.

“Count yourself lucky to see such a sight; I doubt I will ever gaze upon this masterful beauty again in my mortal life,” Aragorn said, following Harry’s line of vision at a much slower pace. The Ranger hummed absently in the back of his throat and the two stood there for some time, just listening and watching the lost world of the Elves settle around them.

Harry reached up and ran a finger over the faint lightning bolt scar on his forehead, out of habit more than anything else, and asked the one thing that had been on his mind since he entered the Naith.

“How does such a place exist in a world of human greed and strife? There’s supposedly a war going on and yet...” he trailed off, not knowing enough words to do his thoughts justice, and not knowing enough about the situation in Middle Earth to understand the workings of the world in this context. 

But Aragorn seemed to get enough of an idea of what Harry was trying to say.

“I know not,” Aragorn answered, just as sadly, “The world of Men troubles me greatly.” As he spoke, Harry saw him grasp at something shining and white around his neck, mostly hidden by his shirt. A necklace of some sort that he hadn’t noticed before.

“But do not mourn for what will not come to pass again; rather, relish in the moments, as breath taking as they are, and appreciate the unmarred Life that still exists in a world succumbing to shadows so dark and malign.” 

Harry swallowed, feeling empowered in a strange way by the Ranger’s words. He wished he’d had that kind of skill with rhetoric before the Battle of Hogwarts. He’d always felt like an incompetent leader whenever he’d been thrust into the role, even as people had rallied behind him, learnt under him, and praised him unnecessarily. He’d only ever done what he’d had to in order to survive, and to ensure that others survived. He’d never felt comfortable on the guided mantle the wizarding world had placed him on; that is, when he wasn't considered off his rocker, or dark and dangerous.

But it was clear that Aragorn was a born leader.

And more than anything else, Harry envied the confident assuredness with which the Ranger carried himself. The way he always looked people in the eye when he spoke to them and the soft, commanding manner of his voice that invited people to follow him.

Self-confidence was never something Harry had in spades, he was embarrassed to admit, but talking with Aragorn made him want to _want to_ be a good, strong, worthy leader. The kind that the people of the wizarding world had always expected him to be.

A blush rose quickly up his neck and into his cheeks as Aragorn suddenly turned to meet his thoughtful gaze, a questioning look blooming in the Ranger’s eyes at Harry’s prolonged staring.

Swallowing down his embarrassment forcefully, Harry fumbled for a topic to change the subject before Aragorn could ask him why he was watching him so intently. “Where are we?” he asked, quickly switching his gaze back to their surroundings and folding his arms across his chest.

Aragorn smiled. “We are in Cerin Amroth, the heart of Lothlórien. Enjoy your time while we’re here, for we shall be moving on soon,” he said, and then moved away to sit by the base of a tree Harry had seen Frodo, Sam, and Haldir climb up earlier, to stare at the silver and gold flowers growing there.

Harry looked around to see where the rest of the Company had gone to, now that they were no longer inhibited by blindness, and saw that he was not the only one standing and staring in wonder. He felt humbled by the moment, by the dream-like world around him, and wondered if anything so amazing existed in the wizarding world. A unicorn or two would not be out of place here, and he felt sorry that they were stuck in the dark shadows of the Forbidden Forest while glades like this existed in the living world. 

Harry couldn’t imagine having any nightmares of the war, the past year, or Voldemort while he stayed here. It was hard to believe there was a war going on at all here. Which made him wonder all the more what he was doing here and why this world needed _him_ of all people. He wasn’t exceptionally smart, not like Hermione, at least. Nor was he a particularly good strategist for war, not like Ron. He had raw power and an apparently noteworthy propensity to love.

 _Hmph_. He silently snorted to himself. That might have helped him against Voldemort, but what good did that do him here? He didn't even know the name of the Enemy yet! If these Valar were expecting someone like Merlin, well, then they’d picked the wrong wizard to send inter-dimensionally.

Sighing, he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans, once again wishing he could trade anything for a decent change of clothing. The coldness wasn’t a bother anymore, not since they had made it to the inner parts of the forest, but he was long past feeling dirty and disgusting. It had been well over a week since he’d waded in the Nimrodel, and even for a bloke that was too long to go without a good shower, at least at the rate they were walking at, and all the bits of forest and dirt Harry had been sleeping in since.

For one thing, though, sweaty and grimy though he might be, he knew he was in good company smell-wise. Showers and clean clothes didn't seem to be high priorities for anyone besides the Elves. But at the same time, Harry didn’t want to be grouping himself with the dwarf just yet either.

Maybe when they met the Lord and Lady of these lands, they might take pity on him and throw him something presentable to wear as not to embarrass himself too bad. He had to represent the wizarding world and Earth, after all. What would Hermione say, him going before a Lord and Lady Elf in nothing more than jeans and a T-shirt?

At that thought, he bit back a thread of worry crawling in his chest. Physically he knew his friends were fine. They were in no danger and Harry shouldn’t be worrying about them, but he knew they must be worrying about him. It was just like him to disappear out of the blue, after all; Fate seemed to have it in for him like that. He just wished he could let them know he was okay. Better yet, he wished they were here with him, like they had been for every other obstacle he’d faced in his life.

But this time he was truly alone. And no one would be coming to help him out.

Closing his eyes, he tried to push those depressing thoughts from his mind and concentrate on appreciating the beautiful place he was in once again. For when he finally returned home and Ron and Hermione asked him to tell them about his adventures in another world, they would want details.

So, walking along an unmarked path, Harry continued to stray from the rest of the group and let his eyes wander aimlessly, taking in every possible detail he could and storing it in his memory for when he would be able to tell his friends all about his magical time in the woods of Lothlórien.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tolkien's Words quoted in here, and other chapters are not mine.


	9. Enter Lady Galadriel

Harry had thought that the Naith was the most amazing place in the world – both worlds truly – and in many ways it still was. The sense of leaving the Old World, unmarred by any evil as it was, had caused him to feel an inexplicable sadness that couldn’t quite be explained, but left an utter sigh of despondence in his chest, nonetheless. But then, coming upon the sight of Caras Galadhon, a city raised up on a hill, covered with thick, ancient mallorn trees that reached higher into the heavens than one could see, had been breath-taking.

The Company came down from the North and Haldir led them along the outer rim of the city wall down a stone road that abutted a deep, mote-like fosse. The entrance, the only entrance into the entire city, was at the opposite end at the Southern Great Gates.

Harry looked up from the vantage point from across the ditch in the earth between the rough stone path and where the towering green wall rose up to protect the inner city. Above, cresting atop the deep green stone, the city of elves loomed overhead, set against the backdrop of a deep purple sky. Trees reaching at least 400 feet tall were made even bigger by the many _flets_ circling the trunks and branches of the mallorn.

But even as he squinted up to see what he could past the lofty green wall, which also seemed to be made out of some type of stone, only pinpricks of silver light and indistinct shadows could he discern. Perhaps it was the time of night, or his less than stellar eyesight, but a deep, more primal, instinctual part of his mind told him that there was a powerful magic at work, protecting the city with more than walls and gates.

That passing hunch soon became more than a gut reaction when Harry suddenly felt a commanding force slam into his mind causing him to lose his footing and almost stumble into Pippin in front of him. Catching his breath and blinking rapidly at the sudden onslaught, Harry shook his head and a great, shining Prongs burst forth onto his mindscape of the now-familiar rapidly thickening fog, and set off to attack any intruding presence it could find. Meanwhile, Harry tightened his barriers on all the compartments of his mind, hiding them deeper into shadow, even as he felt a battle being waged on the edge of his surface thoughts.

Behind him, Gimli started at Harry’s abrupt movements and began muttering about questionable magics and suspicious wizards. But Harry did little notice as he concentrated on keeping the intruder out and then slapped a large, red ‘Keep Out’ sign on his defences for extra emphasis.

Whoever this person was, they obviously didn’t want Harry here, but as Harry wasn’t even in this world on his own volition, he was more than eager to let this person know just how well he responded to threats of any nature.

It seemed an awfully odd coincidence that the first offence had been followed by a welcome to Lothlórien from the Lady of the Woods, and this next one just happened to happen hours before Harry was set to formally meet her. From what he had been able to deduce about this world, magic was a rare but commonly accepted entity. There were few who truly knew how to wield its power. But all fingers seemed to point at the fact that this Lady Galadriel was one of them.

Aragorn might be right about no evil being in Lothlórien other than what one brings in, but it seemed clear that regardless, there was someone, or something in this city that Harry was less than eager to meet.

. ... . ….. . … .

Almost an hour later, the Company was finally walking over a pristine white bridge and down a path between overlapping stone walls that led to the wrought iron city gates. The sun had long since set by that point, leaving deep swaths of purple across the sky, before finally giving way to the moon. It bathed the city in muted lights; the winding, grassy paths taking on a silver glow beneath their feet. Harry still wondered if it was the same piece of rock in the sky as the one his friends were seeing at home, or if this were a different moon. And the bright star that shone throughout the day a different sun as well. And if so, what did that mean?

Inside the city walls, the trees and their elvish _flets_ were slightly clearer to see, but there was still an air of mystery and a muted, calming ambience that seemed to ensnare the mind and bewitch the senses better than any famed potion Snape had ever expounded ardently upon. And the presence outside Harry’s mind had not only become stronger, but the very air itself had become thicker with the same magical aura as well. Harry wondered how the rest of the Company was not staggering under the pressure of the foreign magic. The closer he got to the heart of the city, the more suffocating it became. Feeling woozy from the exertion of so much mind magic, the stifling power in the air, and the added exhaustion of walking for so long without reprieve, Harry felt inordinately exhausted. It was probably this more than anything else that had him feeling so on edge, irritable, and anxiously antsy in his own skin.

Lifting his head up to stay alert, Harry looked up and around him as his group proceeded to climb up a countless number of stairs and wind along many more twisting paths, surrounded everywhere by tall, towering trees hung with silver lamps. Being in an elven city, one not stuck in time, was a little disconcerting for Harry. As beautiful and perfect as it was, Harry could not supress the shiver running down his back at the feeling of being in a ghost town.

It was so quiet, as though the city was abandoned. No footsteps were heard, yet he caught glances out of the corner of his eye of movement whenever he wasn’t looking. And though no words could be discerned, he heard light, musical laughter floating up above from the trees, and the whisper of music in his ear from far away, in a flowing, lilting language he had no understanding for. If he weren’t more familiar with ghosts and spirits, he would claim to be in some kind of Muggle supernatural film, where the echoes of the dead whispered and sang hauntingly around them. But even knowing what he did and being fully aware that it was nothing more than mysterious immortal elves of Lothlórien, it still made him uneasy.

Harry wondered then, what it must be like to be an elf. To be born to such an existence and to live in such a place that was as perfect as it was untouchable to all but the Everlasting. It seemed too perfect, too unreal and untouchable, unsettling, to say the least. Harry did not think he could ever be content with such an existence. Yet as this was not the only elven community on Middle Earth, as proven by Aragorn and Legolas, who both had had plenty to say of their own homes in Rivendell and Mirkwood, respectively, Harry decided to reserve judgement for the moment and turned to see his companions’ reactions.

As to be expected, he mused, Legolas looked like he was in his element. For the admittedly short time he’d been with the Company, Harry didn’t think he’d ever seen a bigger smile or look of excitement on the elf’s face. Knowing better now that Legolas did not harbour any feelings of immortal superiority over the rest of the group, Harry found the sight oddly endearing. He shook his head before the thought could take root, blaming the ridiculous notion on his exhaustion and wariness of being in a city of what felt like beautiful vampires. Harry shivered at the thought, hoping that for all their gracefulness and deadly skill with a bow and arrow and leaping over brooks and between trees, that Elves weren’t bloodthirsty and vicious like vampires. He rather doubted it, if he were to take a moment to think straight, hearing the way Aragorn, Legolas, Sam, and even Frodo went on about them. Still, the whole unnatural grace, silence, and power radiating around the city was still making his skin crawl.

Glancing over to the front of the line, Harry noticed Frodo walking in awe ahead of him. The usually stoic hobbit, with a perpetual look of seriousness and dread –the look of one with a heavy burden weighing down his mind that Harry knew all too well –was not exactly smiling, but he was no longer frowning either, for which Harry was at least grateful. This alone seemed to confirm that Harry was indeed the only one being suffocated by the powerful magic in the air.

The rest of the Company remained quiet, from a mixture of tiredness and wonder at their new surroundings, and Harry was poignantly reminded of his first look at Hogwarts, gliding up on the Black Lake and gazing up in amazement at the ancient, stone castle with not a little trepidation and excitement. Harry imagined that all of their group were feeling that same way now, if their widened eyes and opened-mouth expressions were any indication.

Harry absently wondered if Legolas could see any better in the night than the rest of them and what this city would look like, coming into it during the day. Not that it truly mattered; the danger was present regardless of the time of day. He could feel it as the hairs prickled at the back of his neck, like the eerie sensation of being watched. And as they came upon the largest mallorn tree of the city, at the very top of the hill, Harry wasn’t sure if he was entering an enemy’s lair or if it was his own dark past bringing evil into the heart of the city. Either way, he didn’t exactly feel welcome here.

In front of the giant mallorn was a large, lush green lawn that reminded him of Cerin Amroth in the Naith. Off to the side stood a shimmering white stone fountain that burbled sweetly, falling into a basin that then followed along a twisting path down a short waterfall, around the trees’ base and beyond. Harry watched the flow of the water hypnotically, entranced how it seemed to add to the beguilingly peaceful silence that permeated the glade.

It wasn't until Haldir spoke that Harry noticed the two guards at the base of the large tree, who immediately sent up a cry with their horns and were answered moments later from above by what Harry assumed to be another set of guards. The message had been relayed, and moments later Frodo and Legolas were climbing up the tree on the ladder provided, with the rest of the company following moments behind.

Harry brought up the rear, not counting Haldir, becoming even more agitatedly mindful of his threadbare t-shirt and worn-out jeans with each step he ascended. He felt both severely underdressed and at the same time naked, going into this meeting with the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien, not knowing what to expect and armed only with his wand. He was also becoming increasingly unsettled by the gathering crowds of stately, noble-looking elves that gathered at the doors and windows of each level of _flets_ as the Company climbed to the very top.

The elves eyed their group with a look of detached fascination that had Harry shifting uncomfortably with each step. It didn’t ease his mind any that none of the others in the company seemed comfortable with the prolonged stares _._ However, with Haldir’s silent prodding, they continued to climb until they reached the highest point, where it appeared an entire house had been built right below the crown of the tree.

Wooden floors and supporting arches made up the open, airy room that had been built around and with the tree itself. Lit in the evening with low lighting to highlight the soft green, gold, and white décor, the room itself had the grandiose air of one that entertained many kings, queens, and other royalty. In the middle of the room on majestic thrones of intricately carved white wood sat the illustrious Lord and Lady, who looked, for all the world like they were straight out of a fairy tale. Garbed in pure white robes and faces unblemished by time or age, they were awe-inspiringly beautiful and gave Harry the deep impression of power and knowledge. Not only that, but the suffocating pressure that had followed him since entering the city was suddenly increased by tenfold and Harry found that he had to remind himself to breathe.

Despite their austere, imposing appearance, however, the Lord and Lady amicably greeted their guests by name as they ascended the last rungs of the ladder and slipped into the room at last. Lord Celeborn, it seemed, was most exuberant, and greeted each member of the company like one would a long, lost friend. It was only when his eyes lit upon Harry that his smile faltered, and he tilted his head ever so slightly in question to the wizard’s unexpected presence. 

All activity and chatter halted in the room as they noticed their lord’s pause. Harry, having never been in such a situation before and still not sure whether this was a situation where he would be required to stand and fight or show some subtle deference and pretend ignorance to the waves of power coming from the elven couple on the throne, stood there uncertainly. Subtlety had never been his forte and he certainly lacked the fluid grace and silver tongue of any noble or aristocrat. He clenched his jaw and shuffled nervously from foot to foot, waiting for something that would decide his next move. 

It was Lady Galadriel, however, who broke the awkward silence by tilting her chin up and regarding Harry with curious interest lighting up her intense, pale blue eyes.

“Welcome, wizard of Earth, defeater of the Dark One, and Defender of the Light.” The Lady bowed her head to the side in greeting, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Her voice was clear and musical, but deeper than expected and seemed to lend a certain power to her, in Harry’s eyes at least.

She had said much about him in only a single sentence, yet what struck him as odd was that she hadn’t called him by name.

As if divining his thoughts, which he knew she most certainly wasn’t doing, as his Occlumency shields were at their maximum, the Lady spoke again in the tense silence of the room. “It is only since coming into the heart of my home, Caras Galadhon, that I have been able to divine even the smallest look into your mind, though the Valar have imparted to me a bit of your past. Indeed, I am surprised to say that your strength of mind is shockingly unparalleled to all but myself. And even with many eras of practise yet, I still have not been able to see past a few surface thoughts. It would seem that you remain a mystery to all in Middle Earth, Master Wizard, young though you may be. And as such, I must ask for your name; it seems that all your companions know you by is Harry.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. His suspicions, blindingly obvious though they were, had finally been confirmed. It _was_ this powerful elven lady that had tried pushing her way into his and Frodo’s minds that night they met Haldir. And it was this same woman that had tried to do the same thing a little over an hour ago. Which meant she was also the one responsible for the suffocating magic protecting this city and bathing it in her power. She had just openly admitted to it, too!

Harry felt himself reeling in shock at the almost blasé way with which she just owned up to attacking his Occlumency barriers. Not to mention, checking up on him with the Higher Power jerks that had pulled him from the Burrow and plopped him down here, in the middle of nowhere. And now she had the audacity to ask for his name!

Harry steeled himself with a deep breath, knowing his temper would get the better of him otherwise. It must be something about elves, their grace, and air of infinite knowledge that sent him over the edge, because he hadn’t failed to meet one yet that did not rub him the wrong way. But then again, it was probably the fact that this woman had invaded his mind, _twice_ , and was currently trying to asphyxiate him with her unbridled power.

“I thank you for your kind hospitality and allowance of our group to cross through your lands,” Harry began, copying the bowing motion of his head coupled with a gracious smile that for all else was genuine in itself, “but I fear that this Valar have not imparted nearly enough about my home world, for there it is a high offence to breach another’s mind, and is not looked upon kindly,” he ended coldly.

He could have added that such Legilimency is usually used by the sneaky and dark, or perilously old men who thought they alone knew what was best for the world, but he thought that might be pushing the boundaries a bit too far, considering. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to welcome a full-fledged fight on his hands just yet. So instead, he finished evenly with, “I’m sure you were completely unaware of the clash in culture and consequential violation of etiquette, but for right now, I am content to be referred to as Harry alone.”

He was sure more than one jaw dropped in horror and embarrassment at his own violation of etiquette in addressing the Lady of Lothlórien in such a rude manner, but he would hold onto the fact that she had started it. Besides, he felt no true affiliations to this world or her domain to give of his trust or respect so easily. Nothing she could possibly say would warrant him spilling all his secrets on her command.

The only thing he himself felt shocked about was the fact that he’d been able to respond to her in the same high language everyone else seemed to like to use. He figured it must have started to rub off on him after spending several weeks here and listening to it every day. And that was nothing to note of how the elves themselves spoke. Yes, Harry thought it was safe to say that his speech had definitely changed since coming here, and for the better too if he was to continue to survive in this strange land. 

That might not be for much longer, however, as the stares bearing down on him were beyond threatening. Obviously, none held a candle to Snape or even Dumbledore, but at this magnitude, it was hard not to start feeling a little hot under the collar. But that didn’t mean he was willing to retract his words either. Far from it; he meant every word he had said. Now all there was to do was wait for the reaction and find out whether he had officially made an enemy of the elves or not. It wouldn't be the first time he was seriously outnumbered and overpowered. He could deal.

As it was, though, none of the observers seemed brave enough to step forward and say something, or perhaps they were just waiting for Lady Galadriel to take care of it.

“Harry it is then,” Lady Galadriel finally said, her voice just this side of chilly, but Harry wasn’t too bothered as it had the effect of at least calming the room and turning the harsh gazes elsewhere. “My apologies, Master Wizard,” she said after a moment, looking curiously at him now and not doing anything to hide it, “it shall not happen again.”

He regarded her coolly in return for a moment before nodding his head politely in thanks, deciding for a moment that he would continue to play his cards close to the vest and maintain his distance as long as she kept her word. That being said, he didn't let up on the tight hold of his Occlumency defences in the slightest. With any luck, he wouldn't be here for too long and would eventually get the chance to breathe again.

Seemingly satisfied with Harry’s presence for now, the Lord of Lothlórien looked at the group assembled and spoke once more.

“Here are nine companions, but with the wizard Harry’s addition I had counted upon ten. Nine were set out; so said the messages. But there may have been a change in counsel that has not yet reached our ears, for the lands between Imlardis and Lothlórien grow still with each passing day.”

“Nay,” Lady Galadriel said, “there were no changes of counsel. Nine set out from Elrond’s home, yet only eight of the original company stand before us. Gandalf the Grey has not passed the borders of this land. Now tell us where he is; for I much desired to speak with him again, but I cannot see from afar, and his mind and heart are shrouded in mist from my sight.” As she spoke, her eyes grew dark with worry and her brow creased deeply; the first show of hidden emotion that Harry had seen from the composed woman yet. He almost felt a bit of pity for her, knowing what was to come.

Again, the topic of the old wizard Gandalf’s death was breached for the second time since meeting Harry, and Harry could see how the reminder served to open the still raw wounds of the company. His small pity for her was quickly replaced with anger at the pain she had caused his travelling companions.

“Alas!” Aragorn was the first to cry out, his voice hoarse and cracked. “Gandalf has fallen into shadow in the Mines of Moria; he sacrificed himself so that we could escape from a most ancient evil in the mines.”

A cry of grief went up from all in the hall, and Harry saw the Lord and Lady’s eyes darken in sadness. Lady Galadriel immediately demanded to be told the entire tale, and Aragorn took up the mantle of leadership once more, imparting the course of events with a heavy voice, and what Harry assumed an even heavier heart.

Hearing this story in its entirety for the first time, Harry listened closely, gleaning bits about the eight he travelled with that he hadn’t known before. The most interesting bit by far was the knowledge and fondness the Lady obviously held for the Dwarfs, so different a view it seemed from most of her people, which immediately gained the respect, and what looked to be enamoured adore, from Gimli; an odd, unexpected turn of events, indeed. Harry absently wondered if this would change the relationship between Legolas and Gimli at all, or if they would continue to be at each other’s throats at every opportunity. He sure hoped the dynamics of their group would change; their fighting was giving him a headache. 

As their meeting stretched on, it was clear that Harry would hear no further information about the quest they were supposedly on until there were fewer ears listening. But for all the lady’s power and proclivity for rooting around others’ minds, Harry was surprised by the end piece of advice she gave them, showing that she was not just another Dumbledore trying to impart her greater knowledge from on high.

She openly refrained from giving counsel or telling them what they should do now that they were without a guide with the fall of Gandalf, but she did warn them that whatever quest they were on was currently hanging on the edge of a knife and doomed to fail if but one of them strayed from the right path. She then proceeded to hold each member of the company in a long, silent stare that left little doubt in Harry’s mind that she was scouring their minds like open fields for her own purpose. He was left out of that mental conversation, for which he was secretly relieved and grateful, not sure if his mind could be pushed anymore without having to resort to lashing out with physical magic. He almost considered threatening at least some sort of spell as he saw all but Legolas and Aragorn bow their heads in defeat, fear, and shame at her piercing gaze. Aside from the elf and the elf-raised man, Frodo held out the longest, though it seemed to be costing him to do so.

At length Galadriel spoke to every one of them, save Harry, and then released them all with a smile, telling them to rest for now and take refuge in her home to heal and rejuvenate. He held back the derisive snort at that comment, wondering how her presence keeping him on edge could at all be amenable to rest and healing. But that was not to say that he would turn away a change of clothing in the spirit of elven hospitality. At this point, he was willing to do just about anything to get out of these clothes. He just hoped his small exchange with the lady earlier did not ruin his chances of that.

. ... . ….. . … .

It was later that same night, when the elves had provided the Company a small, open shelter near the fountain at the base of the tree, where they were finally able to sleep on the ground once more, that Harry found out what the Lady had communed to the Company in her penetrating stares. Each, it seemed, had been offered something of their heart’s desire, no doubt gleaned from their minds, offered in the face of the shadowy fear that lay ahead of them. It was obviously a test, which they all quickly became aware of as they each shared a bit of their encounter in their minds.

“I think Harry had the best idea of us all, keeping this Elven Lady from his mind,” Boromir said offhandedly, the first compliment and kind words the man of Gondor had ever spoken to him. “Though his words were not welcomed, at least his mind was free from her suspicious meddling.”

“Speak no evil of Lady Galadriel!” Aragorn said harshly. “You know not what you say. There is in her and in this land no evil, unless a man brings it hither himself,” he said, repeating his words from earlier in their journey. “Then let him beware,” he emphasised with a throw of his arm, looking upon Boromir with disdain, “But tonight I shall sleep without fear for the first time since I left Rivendell. And may I sleep deeply and forget for a while my grief! For I am weary in body and heart.”

He heaved a tired sigh and looked down at the couch that had been afforded him by the elves, but he seemed not to truly see it. “I am sure you did not mean to offend the Lady in the manor you did, Harry,” Aragorn finally said, looking up at Harry as he spoke, “But I pray you do not hold judgement on the misunderstanding, and wake on the morrow with an open mind and freer heart.” With that Aragorn cast himself down on the couch and quickly fell asleep.

All eyes quickly jerked to Harry for the briefest of moments, but he fended them off with a hard stare of his own and waited until each of them had retired to their own couches before doing the same. He relished, if only in private, the first comfortable night’s sleep he would have that was on something as close to a bed that he would find while on this mysterious quest. It didn’t mean his mind would rest any easier in sleep, but at least it was better than staying awake. 

Surprisingly, however, like Aragorn, he slept deeply, if not entirely peacefully, and did not wake the following day until the sun was high in the sky.

. ... . ….. . … .

The next day, slightly more refreshed, a bit more familiar with the heavy magic in the air, and curious to explore this strange land, Harry enjoyed a light breakfast left for the Company and then set out walking aimlessly along the city paths.

He noted, in ways he did not last night, the deep magic entrenched in the land and trees themselves. His hands were stuffed into his pockets, idly fingering his wand in a familiar gesture seeking comfort, and his neck was constantly craned back, looking up at the many flets he could now see in the daylight wrapped around the trees. None were as grand as the house of the Lord and Lady he’d visited last night, but they certainly took your breath away all the same. Harry desperately wished he had a camera, not for the first time since entering Lothlórien’s borders. If he had, he would be as trigger-happy as Collin Creevey by now. 

So wrapped up in his thoughts and focused slowly on the sites above, Harry did not realise he was sharing the path with someone until he quite literally bumped into them.

The elf put a hand on Harry’s shoulder to steady him with a forgiving smile as Harry’s neck snapped back into place and he opened his mouth to apologise.

“ _Goheno nîn. Telin tegil hammad gwîn, herdir curundir.”_ (Forgive me. I came to bring you new clothing, master wizard.)

Harry’s mouth opened and closed for a moment before he caught up with the fact that the relatively short, brown-haired elf, who was watching him expectantly, had just addressed him in elvish as though he were an elf as well, or perhaps he mistook him for Aragorn – unlikely – who did know how to speak their tongue. Harry, however, had not a clue what was just said to him and responded quite eloquently with a grunted, “Huh?

“Er, I’m sorry,” Harry rushed to repeat himself, not wanting to sound too dim-witted, “What did you just say?”

 _“Ai,”_ the elf cried, “Oh, I apologise,” he added quickly in slightly stilted English, a look of confusion twisting his face slightly, “My mistake. Please, follow me.”

Not seeing any reason to distrust any of the inhabitants here, even if he wasn’t on pleasant speaking terms with their Lady, Harry shrugged and made to follow. He had nothing else planned, after all, and with the Company close at hand, he didn't think he could get into too much trouble. He walked only slightly behind the other elf, partly in trying and failing to keep up with his fast pace, and partly because he wasn’t sure of the proper elvish decorum. Off put by the elf’s initial misunderstanding, Harry had the odd feeling of having missed a step down the stairs and was staggering to regain his footing.

The elf in front of him didn’t say anything to Harry as he led him through the winding grassy paths of the elven city, all the while passing other elves who greeted them good morning, or so Harry assumed. None spoke any language other than Elvish and Harry wasn’t sure whether it was a similar confusion of mistaking Harry for being able to understand their tongue, an inability to speak English - or rather, Westron, or perhaps even their own unwillingness to speak anything but Elvish. With their unreadable expressions and impassive, reserved faces it was hard to tell.

It didn’t take long, after a while of walking, for Harry to start getting a little antsy. Was the Lady Galadriel calling him in for his act of disrespect last night? He thought it had blown over well enough, his message clear as crystal, and an agreement reached between the two of them. But then again, he knew next to nothing about elves, at least not anything useful, so he really couldn’t say.

Just as he was about to open his mouth to ask a question, he was brought to an abrupt halt and a rope ladder was thrust into his hands. With a silent gesture from the elf, who was smiling politely at him, he was urged to climb.

Harry shot the elf a confused look, and in return the elf’s brows creased and met in the middle. “Up. Please,” he said in the same hesitant stutter of one unfamiliar with the language. Harry assumed the elf thought him stupid and was questioning Harry’s confusion at such a simple command.

“Where?” Harry asked, hoping the one-word, simple question would not be misinterpreted in the elf’s obvious limited knowledge of Westron. But the elf just shook his head and pointed upwards again. “Up, please,” he repeated; a bit more commanding this time.

Harry briefly entertained the idea of crossing his arms and refusing to budge until the elf answered his question, but ultimately decided against it. Sighing in defeat at the language barrier, inter-world cultural confusion, and all-around elven stubbornness, yet again, Harry readjusted his grip on the rope and proceeded to climb. Several rungs up he felt the rope become tauter as new weight was added. Looking down he saw the elf starting to climb up behind him with much more grace and skill than Harry was showing. Huffing silently and feeling the heat of embarrassment rise up in his cheeks, Harry turned his face determinedly upward again and continued rising.

After about a quarter way up the tree, he heard the elf calling him to stop. To his left was an open doorway to another flet, much like the ones he’d seen on his way up to the Lord and Lady’s chambers. This one had a strange form of writing across the top of the doorway and peering inside he could see shelves stacked with different kinds of fabric. He thought he might be getting an inkling of why he was brought here now. And he hoped he was correct.

Cautiously, he stepped off onto a thick branch to stand at the threshold, waiting for his guide to catch up. He did so rather swiftly, and then silently urged Harry forward. The moment Harry slid his feet onto the polished boards of the floor, a tall elf woman with long blonde hair appeared.

Words in Elvish were quickly exchanged between his guide and the woman while Harry shuffled uncomfortably to the side. Standing between two well-dressed elves in what was obviously a tailor’s shop brought back the sharp reminder of the dismal state of his own dress. Thankfully since entering the borders of Lórien, where summer seemed to be in constant season all year round, he had been able to stop expending his energy on Warming Charms. But even a daily _Scourgify_ did little to help the smell of month-long clothes, nor the threadbare quality they had already been in prior to his coming to Middle Earth. Crossing his arms in front of him and looking fixedly out a window to see other flets on nearby trees, he almost didn’t notice that the conversation between the elves had come to an end.

The woman was already moving towards him when he glanced up, and before he knew it his exposed elbow was in her strong grip, leading him towards the back of the shop through another door. Momentarily confused, Harry looked back to see his guide preparing to leave. Before he forgot his manners, Harry gave a quick ‘thank you’, accompanied with a smile and grateful nod to make sure the elf understood the message. It did the trick, for the elf returned the smile and bow and said stiltedly in his broken Westron, “I come you later,” before disappearing out the door.

The seamstress then tugged at Harry’s arm once more and brought him stumbling into the next room, filled with even more rolls of fabric covering all six walls that made up the shop. Samples of the finest elven clothing were on display, and others were currently being made by a couple elves in the corner, stitching garments by hand. Harry wondered briefly whether he’d not crossed some kind of barrier into a Muggle fairy tale, and if they made shoes and clocks here as well. And if someone were to spill a shaker of salt would they stoop to pick up and count each and every grain? No, wait, that was fairy lore, wasn’t it? Never mind, Harry shook his head as he was pushed up onto a small platform, where he was soon being poked and prodded into submission.

It was like a trip to Madam Malkin’s, only this time there was no magic tape measurer, pins, or needles moving about his person on their own. The seamstress, however, was on him just as close. Her hands fluttered over nearly every part of his body, measuring here, pinning there, all the while muttering indistinctly to herself. Harry shifted uncomfortably under the intense attention of the elves at the other end of the room who kept shooting him piercing stares. Considering where he was and looking at the beautiful clothing they were sewing, he wouldn’t be surprised to learn that they were personally taking offence at his current ensemble. But as he too was feeling disgust in what he was wearing, he decided a few uncomfortable moments were worth it if it meant he was finally able to burn his current outfit. He was long sick of being underdressed in rags and castoffs.

Hearing the women start to whisper softly to one another, all the while continuing to stare his way, Harry averted his eyes with a deep blush and tried to find something in the shop to divert his attention. He was almost succeeding with watching a bird slowly making a nest just outside the far-right window, when the seamstress, who he was doing his best to stay perfectly still for, spoke.

“I was told about you, you know,” the woman said, pins and needles balanced precariously between her lips as she spoke, yet not one word was garbled, and her Westron was decidedly better than his guide’s had been. “Went to see the Lord and Lady nearly naked – even the dwarf was better dressed than you,” she muttered disdainfully, and even though her dark blue eyes were focused solely on pinning a piece of fabric just so near Harry’s hip, Harry got the distinct feeling of being watched like a hawk.

“And if my sources are correct, which they always are, you had the audacity to insult the very benefactor hosting you and your dangerous company. If I were the Lady, I would have had you out on your ear for the orcs to have, no question about it! Don’t know who you think you are, master wizard,” she said followed by a disbelieving huff, “but wherever you’re from, manners are obviously a luxurious concept used in scarce moderation.” She jabs the next pin in particularly hard, only just keeping from drawing blood.

Harry bit his tongue in a poorly disguised wince and knew his face was already well above boiling point. It was one thing to reproach an elven queen when you were two steps away from falling flat on your face from exhaustion and taut nerves, quite another to be upbraided by a seamstress a day later, while she’s sticking dangerous, pointy objects in your body.

“And now I am asked to make you an entire wardrobe by the Lady herself!” She sniffed, telling him in that simple gesture exactly what she thought about that. Harry made a mental note to thank the Lady for her kindness. With her promise of respecting his privacy and giving him a wardrobe to take on Middle Earth to boot, he would deign to at least put to rest his chilly disposition towards her for the time being. He supposed.

Thankfully, the uptight seamstress fell silent after that, choosing to express her distaste with pressed, thin lips, disapproving stares, and less-than-gentle handling of him as she finished taking all his measurements and started on choosing which fabrics to use.

Though there was no overt magic present, the speeds at which fabrics flew from the shelves and were wrapped around and pinned to his body was surely a form of magic in itself. Still, though it did fascinate him to watch the elves at work, he did his best to avert his eyes and was glad no questions were put to him - just condescending comments, which he did his best to brush off. He’d had more than enough practise with the Dursleys and wasn’t about to let a group of strangers get to him.

By the time she was done and Harry was forcefully shooed out the door almost an hour later in a makeshift robe-like ensemble – his old clothes having been whisked away into the rubbish bin some time ago without his express permission – the guide elf was already waiting at the entrance looking off into the distance, head held high, and hands clasped behind his back.

Now dressed in more suitable clothing not hanging on its last thread, with the nice addition of finally being free from the stern, disapproving glare of the seamstress, Harry felt a bit of his confidence returning. Smoothing down the front of his plain tunic that was only slightly too big for him – it was the only thing the seamstress had already available, or so she had said – Harry raised his chin and went to meet the elf once more.

“You finish?” the elf asked, his eyes sweeping quickly over Harry’s new outfit before coming to rest at a point just above his eyes. Being in front of him for the first time and no longer following in his wake, Harry assumed it must be a sign of respect or some elvish cultural thing with which he wasn’t familiar. He doubted it had anything to do with the elf showing deference to not invade Harry’s mind. It didn’t seem like a common skill all elves had; Lady Galadriel seemed to be the formidable exceptions. He would have to learn more about that later. But for now, Harry nodded with a smile and gestured for his guide to lead the way back down.

Of course, his gesture was soon buffered with the elf silently insisting Harry go before him, but Harry decided to take that opportunity to try and start a conversation with the elf.

“So, I’m Harry, by the way,” he said as he crossed the length of the room to the doorway where the elf waited, putting his hand over his heart and copying the mini bow Aragorn did last night to the elves that had set down their bedding at the base of the Lord and Lady’s tree. “And you are?” He pointed to the elf with an open palm and waited until the elf responded before climbing back down.

“ _Im Boridhren_ ,” the elf answered, mimicking Harry’s gesture but with more pronounced elegance and respect than Harry had been able to convey.

‘Well that’s a mouthful I won't be able to pronounce,’ was Harry’s first thought. Thankfully, he kept his mouth from blurting that thought out and managed to produce an only slightly mangled, far less musical sounding pronunciation of the name. “Pleased to, er, meet you,” he added, finally starting to descend. Going up had been so much easier when he hadn’t had to look down. He was glad the elves had set the Company’s camp on the ground.

Not that he was particularly averse to climbing trees, if you didn’t count that incident with Ripper when he was younger or bludgeoning into the Whomping Willow his second year. But being this high up for no good reason just didn’t make sense to him. He hoped he wouldn’t have to climb back up to retrieve his new wardrobe. Maybe if he were nice enough to Boridhren he would deign to fetch it for him.

“I, er, take it you don’t get many visitors here often,” Harry said, attempting to keep up the conversation to distract his mind from climbing down the flimsy rope ladder.

Several seconds of silence passed and Harry wondered if they’d hit another language barrier, but then Boridhren replied in a halting, yet succinct manner. “No, we do not.”

Not much of a conversationalist then.

Harry focused his gaze on his hands as they lowered themselves in tandem with his feet, grasping each new rung tightly, just in case.

“So,” Harry started and then paused. What he wanted to ask was, ‘is this it for the day, take me to get some clothes and then leave, or does your fair Lady have another message for me?’. But obviously the whole language barrier thing was once again in the way. Just brilliant. Boridhren had just brought him to get new clothes, after all; Harry didn’t want to come off as being any ruder than his own ignorance dictated.

Harry pressed his lips together in thought, noticing that the nearly silent descent of the elf above had not changed his pace in the slightest. Harry remembered Haldir once saying that when the Company first crossed Lothlórien’s borders he could have shot them in the dark they were making so much noise. Apparently, elves have wicked sharp hearing and all-around superb senses. Bully for them.

Several only slightly tense silent minutes later, Harry’s feet mercifully touched ground and he scrambled away from the tree, teetering only a bit to regain his footing on a solid surface once more. By the time he was ready to walk in a straight line again, Boridhren was already waiting just a few paces away to escort Harry back to camp, or so Harry assumed. Deciding to just go with blunt and to the point to make for certain, Harry gestured between the two of them and asked, “We done, then,” shrugging to hopefully make it sound more casually inquisitive and less insulting than it sounded coming out of his mouth.

Boridhren’s face betrayed nothing for a moment, but then he inclined his head indicatively towards the path. “For now, _curundir_.” (wizard)

And there was that confusing Elvish word again. Really, if he was going to speak to him, at least speak in a language Harry could comprehend. “Curundir?”

“Wizard,” Boridhren repeated.

“Ah,” Harry nodded. With or without the added ‘master’, it still sounded like he was being referred to as ‘Muggle’ or ‘boy’, and he didn’t exactly like it.

On the way back, as absent of conversation as the journey there, Harry noticed more elven voices raised in song, carrying a somewhat sorrowful, lamenting tone.

Risking bothering the elf once more in favour of slaking his own curiosity, Harry ventured to ask, “That singing...uh, do they always sing like that? So sad,” he added when Boridhren turned his head back to look at Harry, the ever-present unreadable expression on his face.

“They sing for Mithrandir.”

That gave Harry enough pause for thought for a while. Walking quietly behind Boridhren for the rest of the trip, shuffling his feet absently across the worn cobblestone, Harry listened with a more discerning ear to the sad songs for Mithrandir. He had an idea who Mithrandir was, but wouldn’t know for certain until he spoke with Aragorn.

Elvish was certainly a beautiful language, Harry thought. He’d never really given much thought to the sounding of a language before, having really only been exposed to English in all its different accents and dialects in his short life. But he realised he’d never truly encountered a language so different and with so much life and spirit before. It almost made him think that if he knew how to speak it, he wouldn't want to waste air on Westron either.

“Master Harry, it’s good to have you back.”

Harry turned, shaken from his reverie, to see Samwise smiling at him from the base of the white fountain next to Frodo, with whom he had obviously been discussing sombre matters. Two guesses what demons ailed him, and the two were, alas, interlinked in more ways than one.

Coming back to himself, Harry realised that his guide had finally returned him to the pavilion. Harry turned to see his guide just standing there, looking at him, seemingly lost in his own deep thoughts like Harry was not moments ago.

“Thank you,” Harry said again, bowing his head in a small nod once more.

That seemed to wake the elf up and was apparently all the unintended dismissal needed for Boridhren to quietly disappear back into the woods a second later.

Shaking his head in confusion at elvish behaviour yet again, Harry looked back over at Sam and Frodo, who had gone quiet to watch Harry and Boridhren’s interaction. Harry shrugged with an uneasy grin and said, “These elves are oddly shy, quiet types, aren’t they?”

Sam shrugged just as uneasily, and a dark shadow of contemplation fell over his brow. “I don’t rightly know what to make of them, being here in the heart of their city, but it’s certainly nothing my ol’ gaffer could ever have imagined.”

Harry shook his head in agreement, his eyes on Frodo, who suddenly looked much more afflicted with grief than he had when Harry had first met him. It seemed the elves weren’t the only ones mourning over the fresh loss of Mithrandir. He must have been a great wizard indeed. Perhaps if he were still alive, Harry wouldn't have been dragged here in the first place.

All the pieces of this odd puzzle were slowly falling into place, two connected here, another three over there, yet more still continued to fall onto the board, seemingly out of nowhere, and Harry wasn’t even sure he could begin to guess what the final product was intended to look like.

What was more, he didn’t know who he could trust to tell him either.


	10. The Mirror and Revelations

Harry soon found out upon Aragorn’s return to camp later that night that Mithrandir was indeed the name the elves used to refer to Gandalf, the Grey Wizard. Furthermore, it came as a bit of a shock to know that all Istari – the wizards of this world – were known to speak elvish, or _Sindar_ , as the language was called. It certainly answered a few questions Harry had had, but not all of them, not by a long shot.

Luckily, by Harry’s reckoning at least, he was able to catch Frodo the next morning before he left the pavilion, intent on finally getting some of his bigger questions answered – the ones involving Legolas excluded.

“Frodo,” Harry called, stretching his arms and back as he hurried to meet the small hobbit waiting expectantly at the edge of the clearing. “Do you mind if I join you for a walk?” 

“Not at all,” Frodo answered with a small smile and shake of his head. “I have to warn you, though, I’m not much by way of good company at the moment,” he said ruefully. “Sam is just too polite and sweet to say so, which is why I’m trying to leave before the others wake this morning.”

Harry nodded in understanding as he fell into step beside his friend. “I’ve often tried to do the same when something is weighing heavily on my mind, especially after grieving for the loss of someone I held close. I’m sorry about Gandalf; he must have meant a great deal to you, to you all.”

“He was a very dear friend,” Frodo agreed with a heavy sigh, and then turned to Harry. “You speak as though you’ve had much experience with loss, but even for a man I know you to be quite young, if you’ll forgive me. Though I had a feeling when we met that you understood me better than any other in the Company.” Frodo’s hand strayed to pat at his chest, his gaze turned back towards the pavilion where the rest of the Fellowship still slept. “Could you tell me why?” he asked, facing back to look up at Harry, his expression openly curious and compassionate. Harry, having had a feeling that it would lead to this, couldn’t find it in him to do anything but nod.

He cast around for a good place to start, and finally settled on, “I didn’t always know I was a wizard. My parents were murdered by a mad wizard when I was just a year old, and I was left to live with my relatives, who hated all things to do with magic; me especially.” 

At Frodo’s look of horror at the declaration, Harry paused, unsure if this was such a good idea after all. He hadn’t ever told his story to anyone. His peers in the wizarding world had grown up knowing it, or so they thought for the most part, and his closest friends had lived most of it with him. But coming out and telling his life story to someone not versed in the fame of Harry Potter, sharing all the nitty and gritty details, and whatever else was left, felt like he was baring his soul. And Harry had never been the type to share anything even remotely personal about himself.

Still, it was a necessary evil if he wanted to know more about this quest they were on. You had to give something of yourself in order to get something in return. 

“Wizards don’t begin their magical education until they’re around eleven years old, so that was when I found out not only that I was a wizard, but who my parents really were, how they had died, and the fact that I was ridiculously famous by the Wizarding World’s standards.”

“Famous?” Frodo interjected, a bit of awe and surprise reflecting on his face.

“Famous.” Harry nodded tersely in response. “For surviving the _Killing Curse_ from the mad wizard I’d mentioned before.”

As Frodo’s look of horror predictably deepened at Harry’s admission, the young wizard wondered again if he could go through with the whole story. Drawing strength from whatever well of power had allowed him to defeat Voldemort, Harry trained his eyes forward and looked determinedly at the ground before him.

“You see,” he paused to collect his thoughts, “there was this prophecy....” He continued, going a bit backwards in the order of events as he considered his life in hindsight. He shared with Frodo just the basics of the Prophecy, though the exact wording of it had certainly burned a deep enough hole in his memory to last a lifetime, he was sure. He then gave a cursory account of his adventures while at school, making sure to emphasise all the help he’d received at each challenge he’d faced, and how he really wouldn’t have lived all that long without that help. So few people ever seemed to grasp the fact that Harry was not some amazingly powerful, all-knowing, Merlin-like wizard. He was just an average young man with an exceptional ability to love, which somehow, by mysterious, unknown fields of magic, gave him the power to protect those he cared for. Not that he was complaining by any means, as it had seen to the demise of Voldemort, but he didn’t want to be looked on here as something extraordinarily special any more than he had in the Wizarding World. 

But he had a feeling that if anyone understood the implications of being thrust under the limelight while being asked to carry a heavy burden by Fate, it would be Frodo. Still, Harry repeatedly emphasised the role luck and faithful, loyal friends played in his continued survival, all the way ‘til the end where a twisted series of mishaps, coincidences, and changing ownership of a certain wand led to Harry ending Voldemort’s life not with a _Killing Curse_ , but a simple _Disarming Charm_. 

By the end of his intentionally truncated tale, Harry finally turned to Frodo, hoping the hobbit was satisfied and that Harry could move things along to the present. 

“How did you know there were more than one of them?” 

“Of what?” Harry asked, surprised by the question, as it certainly wasn’t anything he had been expecting. 

“Those objects that had made that Lord Voldemort fellow near immortal. How did you know after destroying the diary that there were more than one? Or that you’d gotten them all before you faced him in that final battle?” 

Oh boy. Harry opened his mouth and promptly closed it a second later. He had glossed over Horcruxes in telling the story, not even mentioning them by name, just that Voldemort had found use of certain objects to help ensure his immortality. He hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but Frodo had frowned deeply at that part of the story and had been much more attentive to Harry’s words from that point on. Harry didn't think he’d been wrong about the hobbit, or that he might have inadvertently given lethal advice to another dark lord in the making. 

Harry thought about asking Frodo’s reasons, but could see in the seriousness of the hobbit’s eyes that something was deeply troubling him and knew he would get his own answer soon enough if he was patient. So he answered, “It had something to do with magically powerful numbers. Arithmancy, I think. I never got into the subject.” Harry shrugged. “But Voldemort was obviously big on power and what better number of times to split your soul than one that’s considered ‘the most powerfully magical number’?”

“His soul?”

Harry squeezed his eyes shut in a grimace and mentally cursed himself. He’d been trying to avoid directly saying that bit, though he had admittedly not been trying all that hard. “Yeah,” he said, finally nodding. “He split his soul into seven different pieces since seven was a magically powerful number, and my friends and I just spent the past year destroying the last of the objects to make him mortal again.” He shrugged. Might as well say it all; go big or go home and all that.

“How though?” Frodo asked insistently. “You mentioned a sword and then some type of fire, and a fang of a snake earlier, but would any sword have worked? Or any big snake fang? Can you conjure the same fire now? Or were these soul containers just more destructible?”

“Hold – hold, hang on,” Harry said, holding up his hands with an arrested look on his face. “They were all special, rare magical items, I can assure you. But why does it matter? We did it, they’re gone, it’s done. End of story.”

Frodo’s eyes burned with something Harry couldn’t even begin to describe, but he thought he looked a little mad. It worried him that his friend seemed so intent on knowing so much about Horcruxes. He wasn’t a wizard or a magical creature really, so Harry knew he didn’t have much to be worried about, but months of building paranoia wouldn’t be dispelled with a few weeks walking in another world, even the world of the elves.

Suddenly Frodo grabbed his hand and started tugging him towards the edge of the city until they were standing between the high green wall that shielded Calas Galadhon from outside intruders and a mallorn tree. Frodo sat down upon the grass, back against the wall, which was actually stone covered in soft, springy moss, and motioned for Harry to join him.

“I don’t mean to alarm you, but I think I have an idea now of why you’re here.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, unconsciously leaning into the hobbit as he spoke. It was about time someone sent along the memo and shed some light on this entire situation. He deserved to know what the heck he was doing here!

“It sounds like the two dark lords in your world and this one are more alike than not.” As he spoke, Frodo reached into his shirt and pulled out a long, golden chain hanging around his neck. “I think Sauron did something very similar, splitting his soul, or power, if there’s even a difference here, and creating this.” In his hand now sat a gleaming, unadorned ring of gold. “This is the Ring of Power,” Frodo said gravely, “the One Ring made to control all other races on Middle Earth. And I’ve been tasked with going into Mordor and destroying it in the fires of Mount Doom.” 

As Frodo spoke the words, a towering black volcano spewing waves of lava angrily flash before his mind’s eye, followed by a great fiery, lidless eye that seemed to stare right at Harry. It seared its image into his mind as effectively as the _Cruciatus Curse_ was on his nerves. Blinking a second later, though, the vision was gone, disappearing into his memory like nothing. But Harry could still feel the heat, imaginary or not, burning his mind, his eyes, and spreading throughout his entire body with a barely repressed shudder. 

Harry appreciated the help the Valar were giving by not having Harry be totally clueless about Middle Earth, but the randomness of these visions - not to mention how graphic and sudden they were - was not something he was particularly enjoying. And if he was to endure learning about this world in such a way, a bit more information would be appreciated. Like more information on elves, what made them tick, how to avoid making them mad, and what to do when one thought it a game to poke around in your head would have been a bit more helpful.

Warring with anger, frustration, and a sudden onset edginess from the vision, Harry rubbed vigorously at his arms to keep away the chill that was really more of a cold sweat developing down his neck and back and turned his attention back to Frodo. The hobbit, however, had not even noticed Harry’s lapse in concentration as he was gazing fixedly on the ring in his hand in a way that made Harry feel a bit uncomfortable, to say the least.

“Only once it’s destroyed can we ever hope to defeat Sauron and win the war,” Frodo whispered hoarsely, seemingly more to himself than Harry. 

Feeling instinct kick in from all those months dealing with Slytherin’s locket, Harry reached up and knocked Frodo’s hand away, causing him to drop the ring and pull his attention back to Harry. An expression caught between anger and fear flickered across Frodo’s face for a moment, but it was gone before Harry had even had time to register it. That more than anything, though, confirmed for him that Frodo was right. He had been dropped into a world that needed another Horcrux destroyed. He really hoped it was only one this time. 

The seconds stretched between them, and Frodo seemed unable to meet Harry’s gaze, but more from embarrassment than anger like the kind he’d dealt with in Ron. For that Harry was grateful, for it meant his friend was stronger and there was a good reason that he was the one wearing the piece of soul jewellery on this mission. For that’s what it was. It was not a quest, for a quest was in pursuit of finding something. No, this was a mission to destroy a powerful dark object to win the war, a concept Harry was all too familiar with, having just finished his own. Which again begged the question of how dare someone decide it was time to thrust him headfirst into the middle of another!

But the desperate, hopeful way Frodo was suddenly looking at him from the corner of his eyes, reminded Harry that he wouldn't have been able to back out now even if given the choice. His saving people thing, if one were to ask Hermione. And he wished he could ask Hermione right now, as she would know so much more about what to do and how to plan and find out if this particular dark lord had made more than one soul container. Harry, on the other hand, had no clue even where to start.

“So, can you help?” Frodo’s small voice shook Harry from him thoughts.

He couldn’t let Frodo down now.

Licking his lips, Harry looked down at the child-sized hand once again clutching the ring in a vice-like grip. He had to admit it was odd being on the other side of a weighty destiny. He had never really stopped to think what it must have been like for Ron and Hermione agreeing to stick with him and see the prophecy to the end. They could have technically left at any time – Ron certainly had – but Harry hadn’t had a choice, his life was tied with that of Voldemort’s. Being given somewhat of a choice now, to follow through and aid in the destruction of another Horcrux or sit back and let the Fellowship move on without him when the time came to leave Lórien, felt odd and surreal in many ways.

“Sometimes,” Harry finally said, licking his lips again and then biting down on his bottom one, “Sometimes things just happen, whether you want them to or not, and you’re left with a task you wouldn’t wish on anybody. It seems like you have really no control over your own life and you just wish for some peace and normalcy.” He paused and grimaced as Frodo lifted his head and looked up with big eyes at Harry in desperate agreement. “But you don’t get to be selfish, you have to do what’s right over what’s easy,” he said, echoing the words of his headmaster from years ago. “Luckily, though,” Harry smiled warmly as he laid a gentle hand over Frodo’s, “you have help; friends who will stay with you ‘til the end. And I’d be honoured to be counted among those friends.”

Frodo’s answering smile was enough to warm his heart and assure him that he was saying the right thing.

A moment of comfortable silence, both lost in thought, stretched between them for several minutes. And then Harry casually broke it with a shrug of his shoulders, saying, “So, now that I officially know what we’re doing on this mission and, more importantly, where it is exactly that we’re going, or at least a general idea,” he paused and smiled jokingly at Frodo, “care to catch me up on the whole story?”

Frodo returned the smile and asked, “Are you sure you want all that _now_? It’s quite a long tale and I’m not much of a storyteller, not like Bilbo or Gandalf, at least.”

“ _Who’s_ Bilbo?” Harry asked pointedly, prompting Frodo to begin regardless. Harry had never been much of a storyteller himself, but he’d at least gotten through his whole tale without problem. It was definitely Frodo’s turn now.

Frodo opened his mouth, and then seemed to think better of it. Half sighing, half laughing, his shoulders slumped as he smiled in exasperation at Harry and then said, “He’s my uncle. And it really started over eighty years ago when Gandalf came back to the Shire after many years, to send Bilbo on his very first adventure.”

The story that followed was filled with dwarves, trolls, elves, dragons, and one amusingly elusive wizard. The telling of it brought laughter from Frodo, who clearly knew the story by heart. The only time he was less than jovial was when he came to what he termed Riddles in the Dark, where his uncle found the One Ring, quite by accident, and met with an odd creature called Gollum. Harry had a distinct feeling of foreboding that this would not be the last time he heard about this strange creature.

He was proved correct a few minutes later when Frodo seemed to move away from the main story and recounted the creature’s capture by Aragorn, imprisonment by the elves, and subsequent escape where he ended up in Mordor. There he was tortured into revealing what he knew of the One Ring, which brought the story back to Frodo, how he was bequeathed the Ring from his uncle, the flight to Rivendell, the forming of the Fellowship, and the events of their journey thus far, all the way ‘til their meeting with Harry. 

The tale had not been entirely what Harry had been expecting, daunting and fantastical, and Harry wasn’t sure if Frodo wasn’t having him on at some parts. Even being from the magical world as he was, this seemed more out of a storybook than anything else. Then again, so had the Hallows, so he supposed he might as well be a believer of the impossible. Wasn’t he usually the exception to most rules that governed what was normal and what was far-fetched and bizarre? Still, and Harry knew he could probably blame it on the scanty memories he was receiving from this Valar, for some reason he was feeling a very odd sense of déjà vu from the telling as well. And he knew he hadn’t ever been in Middle Earth before. Yet this all sounded strangely familiar, he just couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Nothing to do with Hogwarts or magic, he was sure. But then again, he knew that anything magical really didn’t fit into his life with the Dursleys. And he preferred not to think about his life before he turned eleven, to be honest.

Brushing it from his mind for the moment, knowing that if it was truly important, he’d remember it later, Harry thanked Frodo for sharing the spell-binding saga, and then suggested they return to camp for some lunch. And being like all hobbits with a stomach worthy of four grown men, Frodo was quick to agree and led the way back to the pavilion, with a decidedly lighter skip to his step. Whether that was from the cathartic act of sharing his tale with Harry or the prospect of food, Harry wasn’t sure, but it made him smile nonetheless to see the hobbit in much higher spirits than when they had left that morning.

. ... . ….. . … .

Harry ended up being right in his prediction of Legolas and Gimli’s change of heart. He had noticed as the days passed that Legolas tended to only spend his nights with the Company at the pavilion. He left early in the morning with the elves of Lothlórien and frequently brought Gimli along with him.

Harry didn’t know where they went nor did he particularly care, but it was more obvious during their shared meals at night that the elf and dwarf were slowly falling into a more amiable relationship. It was certainly easier on the ears with less yelling and fewer caustic insults being exchanged, but otherwise Harry didn't give it much thought as his mind was already overflowing with heavy concerns of his own. 

Staring blankly up at the stars burning brightly in the sky above, long after the rest of the Fellowship had gone to bed, Harry lay awake, turning over in his head all that Frodo had shared with him the other morning. Something was still bothering him, a niggling thought at the back of his mind that somehow, he should know all this, that all this should be more familiar to him; that he’d heard at least some of it before. 

Harry frowned deeply as he continued to wrack his memories, wondering if he wasn’t just imagining all this, or if the Valar had not put some more false memories into his head to mess with him. He wouldn't put it past them, or anyone else here. He may have agreed to officially join the Fellowship and aid them in their mission, but he didn’t fully trust any of them quite yet and was still wary of the elves in general, one particular elf the most.

However, once becoming accustomed to the heavy magic in the air after a day or so, Harry had begun to appreciate the beauty that was Lothlórien and relax under its many boughs. The gift of the clothes had also gone a long way to at least cool Harry’s temper in regard to the Lady of the Woods, but that didn’t mean his trust in her had grown any either.

As though called by his thoughts, Harry turned his head as a bright light and movement caught his eye from the right, somewhere in his periphery, and saw the Lady standing there. Tall and white and fair, and ever so graceful, she stood at the base of the fountain, right next to the cobblestoned path that had first brought them here. And she was staring at him. When she saw him looking back, Galadriel lifted her hand and beckoned him forth, before turning away from the path and around the trunk of the giant mallorn, out of Harry’s sight. Curious to see where she was going and what she might want of him – and not really doing anything else in this sleepless state except slowly driving himself mad – Harry took off after her.

Silently, she led him halfway around the trunk until they reached the flowing stream that ran underneath the mallorn and cascaded into the fountain on the other side. From there they followed the path of the water away from the heart of the city and down a gentle slope until Harry guessed they were nearly at the city walls.

Eventually they passed through a high green hedge and Harry was greeted with his first sight of Lady Galadriel’s inner gardens. It was a deep green hollow where no trees grew and only starlight was used to light the way down a long flight of stone steps. At the bottom, the silver stream continued on, singing softly in the silent night and reflecting the stars up ahead with no thick boughs of the mallorn to block its view. It coursed up and through another fountain that sat upon a small hill to the far right, and then down to where a wide, shallow basin and ewer of silver sat on a low pedestal, which was carved like a branching tree shooting upwards from the ground. 

Harry followed the Lady to the bottom of the hill, where she went directly to the pedestal and took the ewer from its resting place with all the grace of removing a crown from its cushion. Harry watched as she proceeded to fill the pitcher with water from the stream and then moved to pour it into the basin until it was just full, up to the brim. Curiouser yet, the Lady then bent down slightly to breath gently on the water, before straightening up and looking at Harry once more.

“I realise our eyes met on the wrong star since your coming here and wish to right this wrong as quickly as the winds would carry much gentler words of regret and remorse to your ears. I am not used to my Sight being resisted and thought little of delving into your mind for the answers I sought, ill knowing what harm it would cause our relationship, and for that I duly apologise.

“So little is known about you and I must express myself curious to see one so young put in a position of such power by the Valar, and righteously so. I see I cannot win your trust easily near in the future after so grievously wronging you, but I would offer in atonement the chance to look ahead at what paths lay before you.”

Harry frowned and stepped closer to the Lady. “You mean show me the future?” He was understandably wary of anything to do with the art of Divination, despite Trelawney turning out to not be a complete and total fraud. He had also heard whispers from Sam the day before about this magic mirror of the elven lady that showed the world both for what it was and what it could be. Sam had been reluctant to talk about it, but it seemed to Harry that the mirror was more likely to portend great sorrow and destruction than assure him of any happily ever after any time in his near future. 

But the Lady shook her head. “I merely wish to offer you the chance to see what is, what has been, and what might yet come to pass or possibly even be prevented if you choose to act accordingly to aid in Frodo’s task.”

“There is still much of that I do not understand,” Harry hedged, not sure yet if he should accept the Lady’s offer. He would not be fool enough to think it too generous, being all too familiar with the burden of knowing his own future but choosing to not know what lay ahead could also be foolhardy. He knew the Lady was giving this to him as a peace offering, but what the old and wise saw as great knowledge, Harry was sure the young and reluctant hero - as he had been categorised so often - would see it as yet another worry and liability to carry.

“You wish to hear the tale as it was told from the beginning of Sauron’s reign of power?”

Harry regarded her carefully. Yes, there had to be at least something that Frodo left out, intentionally or not, despite his long tale. There were always many sides to a story, Harry had learnt, and this One Ring had to have come from somewhere. But from the way the Lady spoke, it seemed like it had been around much longer than any of Voldemort’s Horcruxes.

Choosing to look into the mirror and see his possible death, again, was one thing. But refusing information about an enemy you had already sworn to fight was another. What was more, it was stupid. So biting back his pride and gathering the courage it took to be a better man and accept the help given, Harry nodded, “Yes please, Lady Galadriel.”

“Very well,” Galadriel pressed her lips together in what for half a second was a smile, but soon turned into a deep, serious frown. In a dulcet, sombre voice, she spoke, “It began with the forging of the Great Rings by Elven smiths, which were given to the Peoples of Middle Earth in a show of unity, providing wisdom as a tool to allow us to govern and rule our races in peace and prosperity.

“Three were given to the lords of the Elves, who among all are the immortal, wisest and fairest of all beings. Seven were given to the Dwarf Lords, great miners and craftsmen of the mountain halls. And nine, nine rings were gifted to the race of men, who above all else, desire power.

“In our pride we took them and believed all to be well and good on the green grass of Middle Earth, but we would soon come to find that darker days were ahead, for we had all been deceived and another Ring had been made.

“In the land of Mordor, where the Shadows lie, in the fires of Mount Doom, the Dark Lord Sauron, of the Greater Maiar, forged in secret a master Ring to control all others. And into this Ring he poured his cruelty, his malice, and his will to dominate all life.

“That is the One Ring Frodo has been tasked with destroying, an undertaking of which you have agreed to help him. I had believed his journey to be all but lost to the Darkness, but then the Valar sent you, a warrior for the Light, and my hope was restored. I admit to wanting to know all about this foreign, young wizard who the Valar saw fit to fight this battle, but your mind remained all but blocked from my Sight until you reached Calas Galadhon.

“It’s called Occlumency,” Harry butted into her speech, not looking forward to being told of her surprise upon seeing him for the first time, probably comparing him to a child or some such drivel, and considering how the elves were immortal, he probably could be considered a baby. But he didn’t care; he still didn’t want to hear about it. And he wasn't entirely forgiving yet of the fact that she had repeatedly tried gaining access into his mind. Her explanation wasn’t exactly warming him to want to forgive her for that transgression in any way, though he did appreciate the story behind the Ring, and was wondering now if taking a peek in the mirror might be a good idea after all.

“Occlumency?” Galadriel did not seem the least bit taken aback at Harry’s interruption, and was quick, sounding almost eager to find out more.

“The art of blocking one’s mind from foreign attacks, which is quite another skill entirely, that is known as Legilimency.” He paused and regarded her for a second, wondering if sharing this next bit of information would help or hurt him in the long run. He knew the fact that he was taking pause to consider it at all was cause for praise, as it was so different from his ‘act first and think later’ approach. But something about being with the elves, immortally untouchable as they were, living and travelling in nature without even a magical tent to keep him warm, and sharing the road with such a diverse race of peoples, who had such varying views, came from different walks of life, and yet still managed to come together for the same mission of destroying evil, all seemed to have served the purpose of turning Harry’s world completely on its head. Nothing was as it seemed and on top of causing him to be more wary and cautious than ever – Constant Vigilance! – it also, Harry liked to think, made him a bit wiser as well.

It might not have been obvious at first, as his temper had certainly not really dissipated any, but he was slowly seeing how the Fellowship had already changed him. Brought about in the little ways that came from surviving in the wild woods of nature through the kindness of the rest of the Company sharing their supplies, as well as the larger things like being forced to truly evaluate a situation before running his mouth off or whipping out his wand and firing the first spell that came to mind.

He remembered after the Lady’s first attempted intrusion into his mind, that first night in the flets with Haldir, Harry had been seething with anger and adrenaline. If he had seen the Lady that night, he did not know how he would have been able to stop himself from cursing her with the worst thing he could think of without harming his soul with dark magic. And he couldn't entirely regret that thought now, as she had been so forceful, vying so vehemently for access in his head. But after the second time, upon first meeting her, Harry had to admit that he did a fairly good job of keeping his legendary temper in check.

If only she could actually see into his mind, she would know she had been let off easy. But he wouldn’t let her ‘Sight’ anywhere close to his thoughts, so he figured he would have to let her know a bit of why it bothered him so – aside from the _obvious_ infringement of privacy and such – if they were going to come to some type of working agreement.

“I don't know what exactly you were told by this Valar about my fighting for the Light, but back home a seriously dark wizard had been repeatedly trying to kill me, ever since I first survived his Killing Curse as a baby and banished him for 13 years, during which time he roamed the world as little more than a wraith. He was an especially powerful Legilimens, so the moment he got a body back and started coming after me again, I had nightmares of those he killed and tortured - sick sideshows of his work. I won’t explain all the whys of it, but our minds were strongly connected due to some dark magic and he used that connection to trick me, which resulted in the death of yet another of my loved ones.

“I think it should be obvious to see why I don't take kindly, then, to anyone trying to have a look into my head. And I don’t consider anyone to be an exception to that rule.” 

Galadriel was silent in response for several moments as she observed him carefully, before saying, “You must have built up quite an impressive resistance of the mind. And I would pause to wonder if that was not the only strength you gained from defeating this adversary.”

Harry said nothing, he wasn’t sure himself what he gained from it, he only could say all that he had lost, all who he had lost, but he wasn’t up for sharing that either.

“I have already promised to stay out of your mind. And what is more, as a result of our conversation tonight, from what you have said, and how you interact with the rest of the Fellowship, I have gained the knowledge I sought in order to ensure the success of this quest. You have my blessing for however you come to choose.”

Nodding in thanks, he mentally decided that he would let her off with a somewhat clean slate from now on, or at least no longer colour his opinion of her with thoughts of mistrust and wariness. He did not yet trust her, no; he had been given no reason to, but he would finally tamp down the last of his anger at her and see if they could move forward on less shaky grounds.

“Thank you,” he said, making it sound as heartfelt and sincere as possible, “But I do have a question for you.” At her acquiescence, he continued, “You said ‘we’ many times when talking about the Elves accepting the three Rings of power?”

Galadriel’s face darkened imperceptibly, and her gaze seemed to penetrate deeper into his eyes, like she was looking into his mind without the use of her Sight or any Legilimency but was instead reading the state of his soul. “Yes,” she said finally, “How perceptive of you.” She nodded. “It is something the Ringbearer has already seen.” And as she spoke, she raised her left hand and Harry saw a dazzling white ring, made of a metal he couldn’t define, that was set with a large white stone in the shape of a flower. “Long has the Dark Lord suspected that I bear Nenya, the Ring of Adamant. But like you I have fought to keep my mind closed from the Enemy so that he may not see into my thoughts. That is why the Ringbearer’s coming here bodes great evil for my People.

“Should he fail,” Galadriel’s voice seemed to deepen, and the gravity of the situation fell heavy on Harry’s mind as she let the seconds of silence tick by. Her unwavering gaze still boring into him. “The Dark Lord would easily see into the hobbit’s mind and we would be laid bare to the Enemy. Yet, should the Ringbearer and the Fellowship succeed in this quest, our power will diminish. Lothlórien will fade to be washed by the tides of Time, and I will be forced to lead my People into the West, where in our final resting place we will be but able to do little more than sing of The Land of the Dreamflower in its glory days.

“Either way, this journey will herald the end of Lothlórien as it is.” Galadriel finally broke her stare from Harry and spared a moment to sweep a melancholy gaze around the small garden that was so vibrant and green and ripe with life and splendour. Harry could not imagine this place fading away into nothing or being stripped bare with fire on doomsday. Though he had been here for such a short time, this immortal land of beauty and perfection seemed beyond the reach of death, destruction, and the evil influence of dark lords.

It actually reminded him of an old Muggle poem Hermione had read to him during their long nights camping. He remembered it well because it had struck a chord deep in Harry’s mind, and what with all the poetry, song, and verse the elves constantly favoured so, Harry was not surprised the words came so quickly.

_Some say the world will end in fire,_  
Some say in ice.  
From what I've tasted of desire  
I hold with those who favour fire.  
But if it had to perish twice,  
I think I know enough of hate  
To say that for destruction ice  
Is also great  
And would suffice.   


He had already seen the near destruction of one world; he didn’t think he could stand by and watch another be brought to its knees.

“But we shall not think of such things now,” Galadriel spoke again suddenly, pulling Harry from his thoughts. “Come, do you desire to see in the Mirror? I shall only offer this once.”

Licking his lips and then biting down on his bottom one, chewing it contemplatively with the tip of his teeth, Harry took but a moment before his feet propelled him forward until he was standing right next to the filled basin and looking down into the still, shining water that reflected the stars above.

Harry glanced up and Galadriel, who nodded approvingly and then stepped back as though to give the floor to Harry. Looking back down, he stared intently at the water until several seconds later the waters began to swirl, and then like a Pensieve, Harry was looking at images and scenes playing before his eyes. Unlike a Pensieve, they were silent, but Harry found that he did not need sound to understand what was being presented before him.

The first image was of a tall, old man with a long, sharp beard that had once been black, but was slowly turning white. He stood atop a steep canon looking appraisingly down below where giant trees were being uprooted and hideous, bulky creatures were scurrying around large pits of fire set between the trees. It was shockingly close to the scene Harry had imagined Lothlórien being reduced to should this world’s Dark Lord succeed.

Harry narrowed his eyes and leant forward to get a better look at the man in question, in particular at the ornate white staff clutched in his hand. The by-now familiar voice in the back of his head whispered to him that the man before him was a wizard, but before he could even digest the information, the scene changed.

For the briefest of seconds, a great, fiery eye, lidless and catlike in appearance blazed brightly up from the basin. Harry immediately recognised it as the eye of Sauron the Valar had ‘shown’ him during Frodo’s rendition of the happenings of Middle Earth. This time the eye seemed to be moving, looking this way and that, as though in search of something. Harry’s mind instantly went to Frodo, wondering if he was seeing the future, or whether Frodo was already in some kind of danger.

But once again, before he could give it more than a second’s thought, the image disappeared to be replaced with a magnificent room of – wait, it looked like the walls were made up of closely growing trees, all reaching up high to the heavens, opening to a leafy green canopy. At the far end of the hall stood a man. No, that wasn’t right, it was an elf. An elf who looked vaguely familiar, but of course Harry knew very few elves as it was, so he brushed aside the thought as the tall, blond elf with a crown of red leaves, berries, and perhaps twigs, looked to be coming towards Harry. Opening his arms in welcome, he seemed to be saying something, but even as Harry tried to do a halfway decent job at reading lips, the room changed to an open forest scene.

It was an old forest, even without sight or smell Harry would venture to guess it looked stuffy, definitely overgrown and forgotten. Like Time had laid waste to it and things had forgotten to grow and been instead left to stagnate. Harry would take the Forbidden Forest any day to this. Just as he was wishing the scene would change and move on, Harry saw a tree move! That couldn't be right either. He sighed frustratingly at himself as yet another unexplainable thing caused him to second guess his vision.

It wasn't a tree, per se, but it wasn’t a man. Perhaps a cross between a tree and a man? Tall, with rough, leathery, bark-like skin, a green beard that hung like moss, and what looked like thick twigs or branches jutting out from odd places. His face was crude, almost like it had been carved haphazardly out of the bark itself. Harry was hard pressed to say who looked better, or worse, this man-tree thing or Mad-Eye Moody himself? Harry frowned and his eyes flickered downwards to the rim of the basin as he thought of the old, crusty Auror that had given his life to protect Harry. By the time he returned to the water scene, it had already switched.

Frodo and Sam, looking worn out and like they hadn’t slept or bathed in weeks, were slowly, laboriously climbing up a set of steep, stone stairs. Several paces ahead of them, an odd, deformed looking creature, walking hunched over and using his hands as well as his feet like some kind of ape, seemed to be leading them. As Harry watched, the creature looked over its shoulder at the two hobbits, and its large, green, lamp-like eyes that took up much of its face, lit up in a sadistic look of glee. Harry shuddered involuntarily and wished to be rid of the vision quickly.

His wish was swiftly granted, and this time the sight before him was actually a memory. Well that was odd. Harry shook his head as he saw a much younger version of himself sitting in the back of what looked to be a classroom. As he stared harder into the liquid portal, Harry began to recall some of the details. It was primary school, that much he knew for sure. The younger Harry was watching from the corner as his classmates, who were doing their best to hide their giggles behind their small, childish hands, passed notes back and forth to each other while the teacher talked. When Harry was able to catch a glimpse of the notes, he saw that they were written in a weird, squiggly language.

He remembered! He remembered _distinctly_ , without the aid of the Mirror, kids in his class passing secret notes to each other, thinking they were writing in elvish or dwarvish, and all the other odd languages they’d read about.

And then it hit Harry like a tonne of bricks. Merlin! 

Evil rings, Middle Earth, hobbits, elves. No wonder it all sounded so familiar! Of course! Harry literally smacked himself in the forehead as he realised where he was. Lord of the Rings! He was in the Lord of the Rings! Those _books_ by Tolkien that had been so popular among his Muggle classmates. Well, to be honest, it had been those animated _films_ which had been so popular, but the concept was the same. Book, film, what was the difference?

But bloody hell!

. ... . ….. . … .

_“That’s_ when you realised!?” Hermione burst out, unable to contain herself a moment longer apparently, as she was red in the face and showed all the signs of onset asphyxiation.

Harry knew he should be an elf of his word and follow through with his earlier threat of war by pillow, but the look of utter exasperation and incredulity was actually a welcomingly familiar sight that had him smiling, remembering all the times as a kid at Hogwarts when he’d done something insurmountably stupid and Hermione hadn’t been able to keep her disbelief to herself.

“Yes Hermione,” he answered, “That’s when I realised I was in a bloody storybook; or that the book hadn’t been so much a story as a true accounting of facts. You can imagine how upset I was at myself at that moment for not having read any of them,” he said with a grin. “Then again,” he muttered quietly to himself, “it wasn’t like I’d ever had much time to read them anyway before being dropped into the middle of the plot.”

In hindsight it was funny thinking back on his naïve, completely clueless self now, but at the time he had seriously thought he was going insane and that all reality had ceased to be something concrete and solid. It was a hellish free-for-all inside his head and he had pinched his arm black and blue, slapped his face red, and shaken his head until he was dizzy and falling down on the ground. He hadn’t known whether he was dreaming, insane, or perhaps he had been cursed without his knowing and was in some kind of weird nightmare/fantasy world that only existed inside his head.

“A storybook?” Ron’s deeper, much more confused voice spoke up in contrast to Hermione’s high-pitched, disbelieving tones. “What do you mean you were in a storybook? I thought you were in this Middle Earth place?”

Hermione turned to her husband and frowned. “I thought we talked about this? _Lord of the Rings_ is an extremely popular high fantasy novel written by what we assumed was a Muggle, J.R.R. Tolkien, first published in 1954. It was a trilogy, with the _Hobbit_ acting as a prequel of sorts, about a Ring of Power created by the evil Lord Sauron to rule all the races of Middle Earth. ’ _One ring to rule them all, one ring to find them; One ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them’.”_

“Huh?” Ron asked eloquently, shaking his head at his wife as though he thought she had gone completely ‘round the bend. “What are you on about?”

“Honestly, Ron,” Hermione huffed, “Were you paying attention to anything I said these last few days?”

Harry suppressed a chuckle as he watched Ron’s face scrunch into a confused grin, as though to say, ‘of course he’d been paying attention to her the past several days,’ but didn't think that was the answer she was looking for.

“Well,” Ron pulled out with a shrug. “I think you’ve had me fairly distracted these past few days,” he said, ending with a suggestive grin in what he was no doubt sure would get him out of any impending trouble. And just to seal the deal, he started to reach up with his hand towards Hermione’s face, no doubt thinking that a kiss had worked last time, why wouldn’t it this time?

But Hermione recognised the ploy and swatted his hand away, scooting back on the loveseat with a mild glare in Ron’s direction.

“Don't you see the greater implications of this?” Hermione stressed, her hands coming up gesticulating forcefully in front of her, always a good warning sign that she was about to enter into lecture mode. “This not only proves the existence of other worlds, but opens the possibility of not only Tolkien, but perhaps other artists getting their inspiration from alternate realities. Are they just looking into other worlds, glimpsing others’ lives, or did Tolkien go to Middle Earth like Harry, years before? Was he even a Muggle, or maybe he was a wizard this whole time and we never knew it?”

“Hermione!” Harry said softly, but emphatically, pushing up from his seat a bit to lean forward and putting his own hands out in front of him in a soothing, calming gesture. “You’re right,” he said, pleased when it had the desired effect and Hermione stopped in what was sure to be a long-winded speech at her husband, to turn and look expectantly at Harry. “I thought something along the same lines after a while. Eh, sort of.” His mouth quirked upwards as he hedged and he cocked his head to the side as he looked over at the far wall, staring into nothing in thought. “Not as to what it meant for artists so much, but more when I started to realise that I was actually in another world and I hadn’t completely lost it. But more importantly, you won’t believe what I found out.”

As he admitted his fears once more, remembering the panic, disbelief, and confusion that had come over him at the time, Harry wondered how he had got through it all. Eventually, of course, he had just accepted the fact that either he was going insane or he wasn’t. And likely there was just some higher forces at work that he would never understand. But as far as he was concerned, he had still made a promise to help the Fellowship complete their mission of destroying the One Ring. And imagined or not, he would not let Frodo down.

Legolas reached over and took his hand. Harry looked up as his husband pulled it into his lap and pressed it between his own two hands. Offering a smile, he leant forward and kissed him softly on the side of his mouth.

_‘I’m sorry I wasn't there to help you at the time.’_ It was words of regret as one looked back on a situation in hindsight. And even though they both knew Legolas’ involvement at that time wouldn’t have been possible, nor helpful in the long run of events that followed, the thought was still appreciated.

_‘Thanks’,_ he returned tenderly, moving to rest his side against Legolas’ as they had been before. 

“So what happened next?” Hermione asked, prompting him not unkindly, her mind obviously putting the discussion of other worlds aside for the moment for the sake of the story. Ron used this to his advantage and snagged her around the waist a second later, pulling her back towards him until she was almost in his lap. 

Harry grinned, letting the suspense build up in proper chastisement for her earlier interruption.

From the twin looks of anticipation coming from his two oldest friends, Harry figured he better get his mind back into Galadriel’s Garden.

Where was he again? Oh, right, he had just been frozen in shock, clutching at Galadriel’s Mirror, even as it was going black and fading into the night sky covered in bright, burning stars once again.

. ... . ….. . … .


	11. Bequeathing the Map

Not registering his pale reflection that had just reappeared in the Mirror below, which was still clutched in his white-knuckled grasp, Harry was lost in the chaos that were currently his thoughts.

He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched both arms, hard, but nothing changed. Opening his eyes and seeing the garden just as it had been a moment ago, before he’d known it couldn’t be real, Harry stumbled back. Suddenly he felt trapped, lost, and wondered in the back of his mind if this was what it had felt like for Alice when she’d first fallen down the rabbit hole. It wasn’t until he started to feel a little lightheaded that he realised he was quietly hyperventilating. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to calm his breath and stop his head spinning by clutching it tight. This could not be happening. He had to be in a dream or something. This wasn't even possible! How had he not seen it before? _How had he not seen it before?!_

“I’m in a book,” he murmured to himself, “I’m in a freaking book by _JRR Tolkien_ ,” he repeated in disbelief to himself. He scrubbed at his face vigorously and them roughly pushed his hands through his hair, messing it up even further than its usual state of disarray. He shut his eyes tight and tried to think of what to do.

He’d only gotten as far as repeating the same sentence from before in his head when Galadriel’s voice interrupted the circular pattern of his thoughts.

“I do not completely understand the last image that you saw,” Galadriel’s deep voice broke through his panicked monologue, “But I can assure you that this world is quite real. I can, for one, attest as an elf that the Valar who summoned you here are also real, though they exist on a plain much different from our own. I do not know your previous impressions of Middle Earth, but this is as real and existent as the world you hail from.”

Harry didn’t know how, but the soft, mellifluous tones and soothing words had the desired effect of relaxing him. Not that his mind was any closer to reaching a decision about his current state of existence, but at least it was clearer.

“As for the mystery that is the wizard Harry, who is neither of the Istari or even this world, it seems to be getting stranger and stranger yet.” Harry looked up to see Galadriel shaking her head slowly from side to side as she regarded him with wonder.

Feeling even more wary of her now than he had before, which if thinking more clearly, he might relate to his growing paranoia and confusion, Harry took several hasty steps back. But Galadriel didn’t seem to take note of his behaviour and instead continued calmly as though they were not talking about Harry’s quite probable insanity.

“I’m not sure how you would have come across such a name, nor do I understand the reference you have just made, but Jorn Roneld Reuel Tolkien was known as a great seer of the old Númenorean race. He was a leader of his people in Gondor during the War Against the last Alliance, and his visions were notable for having led troops to unexpected victory in battle many a time. But Tolkien disappeared mysteriously in the midst of his army mere months before the final fight in which Isildur severed the Ring of Power from Sauron’s hand and ended the war for the Second Age.

“For those of us who remember, his disappearance remains a great mystery, yet you speak his name as if it is familiar to you. If you know something of his fate, anything at all, such knowledge would be deeply cherished.” She looked at him imploringly, and if Harry could process better any of the information coming at him, he would recognise the eager plea and raw curiosity in her eyes that bespoke desperate hunger that had not been there before. But as it was, only one thing stood out in his mind from what she had said. It stood like a beacon shining in a dark night, bright with something that was not hope, but an assurance of some sanity. JRR Tolkien – whatever his initials actually stood for – was as real to Middle Earth as he had been to Harry’s own world. And if he’d lived in Middle Earth, then maybe there was more to the books than people in his world realised.

But more importantly, it lent credence to the continued stability of Harry’s mental competency, for which he was most grateful. And right now, grasping at straws as he was, he would take anything!

“Though I realise it is late and that you must wish to retire soon, I feel the need to once again ask if there is nothing you can tell me of the fate of the Seer Tolkien.”

“Er, yeah, um, I don’t know much really, just that in my world, a guy named JRR Tolkien wrote some really famous books about a fictional place he called ‘Midde Earth’. I, em, I really don’t know any more than that. I never read the books myself,” he admitted. He could see that Lady Galadriel grasped much more of the deeper significance of this than he did, but in all honesty, he was too scared to ask at the moment. Instead, he decided he needed some space and jumped on the opening in her earlier comment.

“I, eh, I think it’s time for me to head back and get some sleep,” he said, pointing back over his shoulder at the staircase. “We’re leaving in the morning, after all, and I wouldn’t want to be the one dragging the group down or anything ‘cause I didn’t get my rest.” He started to make his way back towards the steep stairs, stumbling only once as he kept Galadriel in his sights. “But thanks for letting us stay here, and everything, knowing all… that,” he gestured nervously with his hands. What was a polite way to mention the death of one’s home? “And, em, and for showing me the mirror too,” he added quickly. “And the clothes, of course. I really appreciate that!”

His wariness of her must have been more visible than he would have liked and seemed to have clued her in to his skittishness, for she froze in place in her steps and simply nodded sombrely to him. And though Harry could tell she was disappointed, he didn’t give it too much thought. Taking the nod of acquiescence for what it was, he quickly ascended the stairs to the top.

He still felt lightheaded and confused as he walked back to the pavilion, going upstream this time to retrace his path. He watched his feet, listening closely to the weight of each step crunching the dirt and leaves beneath, coupled with the steady musical trill of the water on his right. With the silvery lanterns shining from above among the dense, larger-than-life trees, the hushed sounds of twilight, and the barest whisper of elven voices raised in quiet song somewhere beyond sight, it was hard to lose the impression that he was lost in some kind of dream. For a dream would make more sense than being in another world somehow connected by a man who was clearly a mystery in both. Harry didn’t even want to think about it if he could help it, but he had to acknowledge, at least to himself, that the man’s existence in both worlds did seem to correlate in a way with Harry’s own presence in this world.

And with that small comforting thought, Harry was able to settle the spinning in his head enough to catch a few hours of sleep before the Fellowship was due to set out again in the morning.

As soon as he had closed his eyes, though, it seemed like he was being forced to open them once more. The sun was already shining through the treetops and Harry could hear Sam making promises of breakfast in a voice much too loud and cheerful for Harry’s current state of mind.

It had already been decided the previous night that they would travel from Lórien by boat, as four among the Company were adept at manoeuvring in the water. Harry did not volunteer himself for such duty as he doubted he had the skill, and knew he lacked the experience. He was even happier for not volunteering, seeing as he had no desire to be steering a boat this afternoon, especially with the way his thoughts were still banging loudly and chaotically together in his skull.

He only felt slightly more at ease than he had last night, having got a wink or two of shut eye. But there were still too many questions vying to be answered, and he wasn’t even sure where to start, what was even possible, and who he could really trust to give him the information he needed in this world. He was partly grateful, partly peeved with Lady Galadriel for opening this can of worms on him the night before they had to leave.

Those thoughts plagued him all the morning as he silently ate their last meal in Lothlórien. His silence seemed not an uncommon thing as all the Fellowship were strangely withdrawn that morning, all seemingly lost in their own thoughts of the road ahead.

After breakfast, the Company was led away from the pavilion by the fountain where they’d spent the past days... weeks? Harry wasn’t sure. After a while, all the days seemed to blur together. Harry could no longer tell how long he had been on Middle Earth, but it seemed in his mind like it had been years since he’d last seen his friends and relaxed with the Weasleys at the Burrow. Well, maybe not _years_ , per se – that might be a bit of an exaggeration – but suffice it to say, at the moment he really did feel worlds away from his friends.

Harry walked slowly besides Frodo at the back of the group as they departed. He was in good company as Frodo was also quiet in thought, as he had been since last night when the Company had been trying to decide their next course. Gandalf had either played things by ear or kept his plans close to the vest, much like another old, deceased wizard Harry once knew. But either way, it seemed Gandalf had been not only the one in charge, but the only one who had any idea of where their routes lie. And now, the Company was divided on the path they should take.

Boromir, it seemed, was set on going back to Gondor to fight with his people. Harry thought it seemed Aragorn was of half a mind to go with him, or at least he seemed particularly torn when Boromir spoke of returning home. But the man who had thus far taken the mantle of leadership was strangely quiet on the whole and did not have any answers for the Company. Even as they were finally preparing to depart, they remained wholly unresolved on the issue.   
And between Aragorn and Frodo, Harry didn’t know who looked more desperately conflicted.

The rest of the Company didn't seem to have an opinion either way and were willing to follow Frodo, in whatever direction he might choose, through to the end. Though how all nine of them were going to climb up a mountain, or was it a volcano, unseen by the eye of the enemy was still a mystery to Harry. But that wasn’t the issue at the moment; their current, most pressing problem was how they were going to get there in the first place. The dilemma was that no one seemed inclined to give an opinion, and so they were no closer to an answer this morning than they had been the evening prior.

The discussion itself had been uncomfortable, to say the least, especially for Harry, not even knowing any of the places to which they were referring. His knowledge was rather confined to his experiences in Lothlórien and that short path from the Misty Mountains. So needless to say, Harry had absolutely nothing to contribute. And something told him that Frodo knew little more himself.

Harry wondered how the rest of the Company – the hobbits excluded – could possibly expect Frodo to make a decision on how to proceed when apparently, he’d never been out of the Shire before starting this quest. Harry could relate to that senseless logic from those not wanting to bear the burden of leadership all too well. But now that they were finally leaving, abandoning the safety of Lothlórien for the perils that lay ahead of them on their journey to destroy this wretched piece of jewellery, a decision really had to be made. The only thing they knew so far, thanks to Galadriel having offered the boats, was that they would follow the Silverlode – a river, apparently – south.

As soon as they had made it to just inside the gates of the city they were stopped by more elves, who had come bearing gifts. The first was a type of bread that was a cross between a flaky pastry, and something called _cram_ , which from Gimli’s description Harry hoped never to try. The second interesting bit was a set of magical elven cloaks, one for each member of the Company, fit to their size perfectly.

Elves apparently did not view magic in the same way at all. While Harry was certainly a wizard who could do ‘tricks’, by their definition, nothing done by the elves was seen as magic in their eyes. Similarly, nothing of elven make was seen as magical in any way, despite the fact that these cloaks strongly reminded Harry of his Invisibility Cloak – something he was sorely missing. But this cloak was the closest he was going to get while here, as it could hide the wearer from view, though in a type of camouflage that was more absolute and did not make the person strictly invisible. Harry suspected something akin to a complex, powerful _Notice Me Not Charm_ , but he wasn’t going to argue semantics and look a gift horse in the mouth. He was sure if Hermione were here, or even Professor McGonagall, they would be all over these, asking the method behind the make and if any particular words were involved in their initial weaving and sewing.

Still, he listened closely as the elves described to Pippin how they were made. The elf declared they were “... of leaf and branch, water and stone: they have the hue and beauty of all these things under the twilight of Lórien that we love; for we put the thought of all that we love into all that we make.”

Another elf took up the explanation, the same one who had warned Gimli to not eat too much of the Lembas bread and how just one piece should keep a grown man full for the day. He added, “yet take care, for they are garments, not armour, and they will not turn shaft or blade. But they should serve you well: they are light to wear, and warm enough or cool enough at need. And you will find them a great aid in keeping out of sight of unfriendly eyes, whether you walk among the stones or the trees.”

“You are all indeed high in the favour of the Lady!” another then cried, smiling good-naturedly at them as they all seemed to be in very joyous moods. Harry could scarce keep himself from smiling back at the elf in return as the elf held up Harry’s cloak and displayed it for the others to see. “For she herself and her maidens wove these for you all; and never before have we cladded strangers in the garb of our own people.”

Feeling at least a bit of the significance the elf was trying to impart, Harry took his cloak that was brown as the dirt, while at the same time grey as stone, black of night, green of shadowed leaves, and the silver of a running stream beneath the light of the moon. Bowing in thanks, he rolled the garment up and pressed it into his already full bag, which was stuffed with other clothes the elves had been kind enough in their hospitality to provide. Harry would still prefer some trousers and a comfy t-shirt, but he couldn’t fault the elves on their craftsmanship and concentrated on being grateful that he now had more than one outfit, along with his own blanket and a few other necessary supplies.

At least he felt more prepared for their travels than he had when he’d landed here. Not that any of it made up for indoor plumbing, daily showers, or privacy from those around him, but he was making do.

Haldir returned from the North, where he’d been scouting out the rest of the orcs, to escort them to their boats. And though Harry didn’t get more than a nod from the elf, it felt good to see a somewhat familiar face as they navigated the dense forestland outside of Caras Galadhon to the riverbank.

Before he knew it, Harry could hear the rushing of the water, followed closely by the sight of a small clearing that surrounded a dock where several large boats were moored. All were elvish in making, as evidenced by their slim structure, the delicate designs carved into their shiny silver and green sides, and the strange language that adorned the back where Harry would expect to see a name. But apart from these, resting on the banks side by side were three smaller, thinner, boats, near to which rested a pile of supplies and provisions.

All too soon, Harry thought, they were being asked to climb into these flimsy-looking, papier-mâché-like vessels. But Harry supposed that if “magic” had a hand in making those cloaks, then he could trust the elves to not to let them drown.

Stepping warily, he climbed into a boat with Legolas and Gimli, who Harry noted had both become fast friends during their stay in Lórien. Which was something Harry was shocked at, despite having called it their first night here.

Looking at the two with their heads bent in conversation, Harry mused that he still wasn’t sure what he felt about the elf. Particularly because he’d not yet gotten a straight answer out of Legolas about the meaning behind those weird prophecy-like words they’d exchanged. But he didn’t exactly dislike or distrust the elf, he...like he said, he wasn’t sure.

Harry gripped the edges of the boat and tried his best to stay perfectly still as the Lothlórien elves on shore loaded the boats with other supplies: rope, extra food and goods, and other provisions they would need on the journey ahead. Then soon enough, they were being cast off and Legolas was steering their little vessel down through the swiftly moving waters with the aid of a short-handled paddle, which was, ironically enough, also in the shape of a leaf.

Harry sat at the bow of the boat, staring down into the parting waves in a pulling, hypnotic trance. He thought he could quite possibly fall asleep if he continued staring like this, and as long as he didn’t fall overboard, he wasn’t sure he would make the effort to pull his gaze away. But then all thoughts of sleep were ripped from his mind as he heard Pippin cry in wonder from the other boat, “Look at that bird! I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

But it was not a large bird, as Harry had first thought when he’d lifted his head. Much like the day before All Hallows Eve when Hogwarts had greeted the delegates of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, something of the ordinary had been turned into the extraordinary. It was difficult to identify what that was until it came closer. In this case, it was not a bird but a boat, carved into the likeness of a swan, and it swiftly approached them from the opposite direction. Upon closer inspection, Harry saw that it carried Lady Galadriel, Lord Celeborn, and a handful of their servants. Their arms were raised high in farewell.

Everything seemed to stop as the Fellowship gawked, and Harry thought even Legolas forgot to keep rowing for a moment, only his quick reflexes saving them as he changed course at the last minute to keep their boat from the path of the Lord and Lady’s. Though Harry could not entirely blame him, for as soon as the large vessel drew closer, the Lady opened her mouth in song.

_I sang of leaves, of leaves of gold, and leaves of gold there grew:_   
_Of wind I sang, a wind there came and in the branches blew._   
_Beyond the Sun, beyond the Moon, the foam was on the Sea,_   
_And by the strand of Ilmarin there grew a golden Tree._   
_Beneath the stars of Ever-eve in Eldamar it shone,_   
_In Eldamar beside the walls of Elven Tirion._   
_There long the golden leaves have grown upon the branching years,_   
_While here beyond the Sundering Seas now fall the Elven-tears._   
_O Lórien! The Winter comes, the bare and leafless Day;_   
_The leaves are falling in the stream, the River flows away._   
_O Lórien! Too long I have dwelt upon this Hither Shore_   
_And in a fading crown have twined the golden elanor._   
_But if of ships I now should sing, what ship would come to me,_   
_What ship would bear me ever back across so wide a Sea?_

Harry smiled in content, despite himself, though he could not keep from thinking that her voice was not as fair as Legolas’. He quickly ignored that thought in favour of paying close attention as the Lady’s boat was pulled apace with their smaller three, and Lady Galadriel spoke.

“We have come to bid our last farewell, and speed you with blessings from our land.”

“Though you have been our guests,” Lord Celeborn stepped up beside his wife, seamlessly taking over the goodbye parting, “You have not yet eaten with us, and we bid you, therefore, to a parting feast, here between the flowing waters that will bear you far from Lórien.”

And it did not seem to even be called into question, as Aragorn, Boromir, and Legolas swiftly steered their boats over the bank in the wake of the wooden swan, and the group of elves set up a sumptuous picnic on the soft, green grass. Harry was of half a mind to protest the idleness of such an activity, but he knew that they did all owe the Lord and Lady thanks for letting the Fellowship stay on their lands, despite the dangers they brought. And Harry especially knew he should be even more grateful, having finally been told some of the history surrounding this quest, and given a bit of insight as to why he was here.

Of course, the look into Galadriel’s mirror had really raised more questions than it had provided answers, but he knew he was at least more aware and knowledgeable than he had been before stepping across Lórien’s borders. And looking at Galadriel now, there was something in her demeanour that no longer made him wary of the terrible power she held and used so casually. Instead, he now felt almost sorry for her. It was like looking at the image of a ghost, one frozen in their prime, but no longer able to move on.

He thought back to her words of what Frodo’s presence with the One Ring would bring to Lothlórien should he triumph or fail, and he thought he understood a little just how much this world would be changed by the outcome of this coming war. He still did not understand it all, or nearly enough to know what he would be called upon to do here, but once more he was reminded of being lost out in the woods with his closest friends, hiding in a wizarding tent as he wrestled with the weight of the world on his shoulders. Only this time, he thought, the bulk of that weight rested with Frodo, and his compassion and resolve to help the young hobbit hardened even further. He would not let his new friend down.

After he had eaten his fill, Harry pushed back from the array of food spread before him and drew his knees up to his chest. He clasped his hands over his crossed ankles and simply listened. Lord Celeborn told them of the road ahead to where their paths would definitely split; Boromir and those who joined him on his way to Gondor, and Frodo and the rest continuing on to Mordor. They also spoke at length of an old Forest; Fangorn, Harry believed, which sounded little better than the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts. But it seemed much was steeped in myth, also like the Forbidden Forest, and that the only bit of concrete advice given was to stay well away from the place at all costs. Harry didn’t think he would have too much trouble following that order.

Then when it looked like the luncheon was coming to an end, Galadriel rose and called them all to drink a final farewell. She then beckoned them over to impart a gift for each of the Company, in memory of Lothlórien, and what Harry guessed was the end of a great people and realm. But Galadriel did not give away any weakness, though Harry thought he could see regret and sorrow in her eyes as she looked over at her husband while she spoke.

To Aragorn, they gave a fine silver and white sheath with many strange markings and intricate lines, made for a very special sword. The trio were hushed on the subject, however, and Harry guessed there was much being left unsaid on the matter. What was even more intriguing was the clear green stone inlaid in a silver brooch wrought in the shape of an eagle. That too seemed to hold great significance, and as they spoke in Elvish, Harry could do little more than guess at what was being discussed, as the mystery of Aragorn only grew in his mind. He hoped it would be solved at some point along the journey, for Harry would hate to leave before getting to know the real man.

The following gifts were much less elaborate, and less conversation was exchanged, but that did not diminish the beauty or power of the gifts presented in the least. Boromir received a belt of gold, Pippin and Merry, belts of silver with the golden flowers of Lórien displayed on the buckle. Legolas was given a fine bow and a quiver of arrows, which were presented with more words in Elvish that Harry guessed somehow emphasised the significance and splendour of their make.

Sam was gifted a box of dirt. Harry would have laughed out loud if not for the sombre mood that endured, and Sam’s look of awe in accepting the gift. Apparently for a gardener, dirt from an elven village was a fine gift indeed. Harry himself would probably have been insulted, but eh, to each his own, and he pressed his lips together tightly to keep from letting a grin steal away.

Gimli was left to request his gift, with the Lady admitting to not knowing what a Dwarf would want from an Elf. But after a fine, promising speech made on Gimli’s part – with a skill Harry was floored to discover the Dwarf possessed, and surprised that Gimli could even speak so kindly to an Elf – Gimli accepted three golden strands of the Lady’s hair, along with a speech of her own about hope for peace and good relations between the Elves and Dwarves. Another odd gift, in Harry’s opinion, but again, he held his tongue and kept his face impassive. He doubted, after all, that they had Polyjuice Potion here in Middle Earth. So he probably shouldn’t be _too_ worried about Gimli’s request.

Finally, Frodo was last, and his gift seemed to hold the most significance of all. Harry was not sure if he had heard rightly, though he wondered how he could have misunderstood, standing so close, but he could have sworn Galadriel said that the clear phial which was filled with water from her fountain stored the light of a star.

Straining to catch every word, Harry leant in as Lady Galadriel went on to say, “It will shine still brighter when night is about you. May it be a light to you in dark places, when all other lights go out. Remember Galadriel and her Mirror!”

Harry watched, entranced, as their hands touched as the gift was exchanged, and the phial glowed brightly with a light so bright that Harry would have to say it contained a magic all its own. Perhaps the captured light of a star was not as odd a thing as he first thought.

Seeing Frodo rise from a bow of thanks to the Lady, Harry smiled lightly and began to turn, ready to climb back aboard and continue on their journey. But he had no sooner taken a step back towards the bank, when Legolas’ hand caught him on his shoulder and held him in place at the same moment the Lady called him back.

As he turned in surprise, she beckoned him forward to her side, and feeling helpless to disobey, not to mention a little confused, he took Frodo’s place at her side.

“Er, do you wish to ask something of me, Lady Galadriel,” he asked, fighting the urge to fidget. He had hoped she would not ask about Tolkien again, as he had no answers to give her. Nor did he plan on telling her anymore about his past, which included his name, where he was from, or what he suspected was expected of him as a result of being brought to Middle Earth. Though at this point, he no longer wished to be rude - after all she had given to him and his companions, as well as the information she had shared with and shown him.

But if she did insist on pushing, that did not mean he would back down for the sake of remaining polite. He would just try his best to not let it come to that. Clasping his hands behind his back to give them something to do, he waited with as much patience as he could muster and withstood her scrutiny.

Finally, she shook her head with a smile, and said, “No. I believe I have gotten out of you all that you will give for the moment. And I do not wish to pry any further, for I believe I realise now just how precious trust is to you in those that would earn your respect.

“Nay, I wish to merely gift you with a memory of Lothlórien. But like Gimli, I know not what a wizard from another world would ask of the Lady of Galadhrim.”

Oh. She wanted to give him a gift as well.

If his footing were less sure, he would have stumbled back where he stood, as even after years of having friends and being considered an honorary Weasley, he was still neither used to nor comfortable with people giving him gifts. And the elves had already given him so much; he could ask for no more than the food and clothes, and basic provisions they had already been kind enough to provide him.

Licking his lips, he shook his head to decline, raising his hands before him to stave off any further generosity than he felt he deserved. “You have been far too kind and provided me with enough already. I can ask for no more.” He started to back away again but was stopped once more by a hand on the small of his back. He did not look to see who was blocking his way, as Galadriel had raised her hand and was beckoning him forward again.

“Come now, surely there must be something you desire that I could give. It is our duty as proper hosts to provide you with good food, a warm bed, and fine clothing, however this is to be a gift not of necessity but desire to leave you with a fond memory of your time in Lórien.”

Harry knew his visit in Lothlórien was not completely peaceful nor happy, and had suffered a rather suspicious start, as well as a rocky first meeting with the Lord and Lady. But he would admit to being somewhat sad to leave. And the lands he had walked through and stayed in so far had taken his breath away in their beauty and serenity. He supposed that when he looked back on his stay at Lothlórien he would choose those fond memories to keep at the forefront of his mind. But he did not know what he would need besides his recollections and a good Pensieve to preserve this beautiful place and time in his head.

He shook his head once more and shrugged.

“Nothing I can give you then to aid in your travels ahead?” The Lady tried again, staring at him so intensely that if Harry were not sure in the fact that she was not using her Mind Powers on him, he would have been suspicious. But her words did remind him of the fact that he still knew nothing of this land, and yet he was expected to trek across it and help Frodo find the Lands of Mordor, among other things, to win this war. What would really be useful, he supposed...

“A map of Middle Earth would be helpful, as these lands are still so new to me, and I would like to know where I’m going.”

She continued to stare at him, though, even after he made his request; her eyes widening in surprise and she tilted her head to regard him in curiosity.

He shifted again under her stare and resisted the urge to break her gaze. But really, if she did not have what he asked for readily available, she could just say. She had asked and he had answered. If there was nothing she could do to help him, then he would prefer that she just let them be on their way. He hadn’t been expecting a gift in the first place anyway.

But then she turned abruptly and signalled to one of her maidens, who brought forth a rolled-up piece of parchment, which she handed to him with care. “Just like the Lembas bread made in Lothlórien and the cloaks made with all the essence of beauty in this land, we do not readily share the maps made by the elves of Lórien with strangers, especially those not of the Elven race. But our time here on Middle Earth is already reaching its twilight and descending into dusk, and I feel strongly that you shall be among those to decide the future of Middle Earth.

“Into what better hands could we pass down our wealth of knowledge than those which we are certain shall care and cherish it as it was meant to be. But understand that this holds secrets of the land that few have the privilege of knowing. I bid you keep its secrets, keep it safe, and reserve it for your eyes alone. Can you promise me this?”

Harry nodded seriously, experiencing the strangely momentous feeling that she was bequeathing to him one of the Deathly Hallows themselves.

“So with that assurance, I deliver unto you one of the personal maps of Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel. Use it well.”

She could not know that her command mimicked that of Dumbledore when he passed the Invisibility Cloak onto Harry, but as the sentiment was the same, he did not feel any surprise in the irony of the statement. Showing he understood and was appreciative of the gift, Harry solemnly bowed forward at his waist.

“Thank you, Lady Galadriel. I’ll take very good care of it, and treasure it greatly.”

Feeling the comforting sensation of dry parchment against his fingertips and palms, he longed to open it right then and see for himself the reason behind the words of warning. He doubted it held the same magic as the Marauder’s Map, but he was grateful for it all the same, and had a feeling it would prove extremely useful to him in the near future.

Satisfied that none in the Company would be leaving the lands of Lórien lacking in a favour from the Lord and Lady of Galadhrim, Galadriel bid them return to their boats and stood upon the shore as the rushing waters sped them away downstream from their gracious hosts.

In the blink of an eye, Lórien was there and then it was gone, lost to the rest of the world once more. Harry wondered if he would ever be back to see it in its elegance before the loss of the power of the Ring took its toll and it became nothing more than a beautiful wooded area with barren tree houses filled only with the ghosts of voices that had once sang among its branches.

Though he kept his own feelings of ambiguity and loss quiet to himself, Harry listened in slight bemusement as Gimli openly spoke of the pain of having seen such beauty with the knowledge that he would never look upon something so fair again. Still coming to grips with his own thoughts upon parting, Harry wasn’t sure whether he agreed with Gimli’s sentiment, so he left the conversation to the two newly made friends.

“I have looked the last upon that which was fairest,” the Dwarf said to Legolas through the tears streaming down his face, something which Harry found rather uncomfortable. To see a male weeping so openly did not seem right to him, but at least he did not feel that same lost, desperate feeling of not knowing what to do as he did when a girl cried. Like when any other male cried, Harry turned his head and pretended he did not see, all the while listening with half an ear to the conversation between the Dwarf and Elf.

“Henceforth,” the Dwarf continued, “I will call nothing fair, unless it be her gift. Tell me, Legolas, why did I come on this Quest? Little did I know where the chief peril lay! Truly Elrond spoke,” and here Harry remembered hearing that name before, from the place Aragorn spoke of as his home in Rivendell. He assumed it was where this quest had begun. “Saying that we could not foresee what we might meet upon our road. Torment in the dark was the danger that I feared, and it did not hold me back. But I would not have come, had I known the danger of light and joy. Now I have taken my worst wound in parting,” he lamented in a low keen, “even if I were to go this night straight to the Dark Lord. Alas for Gimli son of Glóin.”

Face turned away; Harry raised a sceptical eyebrow. He was still not completely used to the fancy words and dramatic solemnity with which they spoke. He may have become accustomed to some of their speech, but most of it was still so foreign and uncomfortable for him to hear without wondering how they managed to wield a sword so impressively while constantly wearing their hearts on their sleeves. Or so it seemed to him.

He was at least glad the two did not expect him to participate in this conversation, as he couldn’t imagine how to respond to Gimli’s words with a serious face. Luckily, Legolas seemed particularly impassioned by Gimli’s elegy, and cried, “Nay! Alas for us all! And for all that walk the world in these after-days. For such is the way of it: to find and lose, as it seems to those whose boat is on the running stream. But I count you blessed, Gimli son of Glóin: for your loss you suffer of your own free will, and you might have chosen otherwise. But you have not forsaken your companions, and the least reward that you shall have is the memory of Lothlórien shall remain ever clear and unstained in your heart and shall neither fade nor grow stale.”

“Maybe,” Gimli replied, his voice thankfully back to normal, though quieter and more contemplative than usual, “and I thank you for your words. True words doubtless; yet all such comfort is cold. Memory is not what the heart desires. That is only a mirror, be it clear as Kheled-zâram. Or so says the heart of Gimli the Dwarf. Elves may see things otherwise. Indeed, I have heard that for them memory is more like the waking world than to a dream. Not so for Dwarves.

“But let us stop this depressing talk and look instead to the boat. She is too low in the water with all this baggage, and the Great River is swift. I do not wish to drown my grief in cold water.”

Harry shared that last sentiment at least, and as the two turned their attention to rowing, each with a paddle in hand, a task he would not risk at the moment, Harry pulled out his wand and quietly cast a _Lightening Charm_ on the bags. That should help at least, and he would make sure to do the same to the rest of the baggage in the other boats this evening when they banked to rest for the night.

Many hours later Harry lay awake, staring up at the stars, in much the same position as he had been the night before when Galadriel had come to him. That seemed so very long ago, and so much had happened since. Unfortunately, Harry was still no closer to the answers he sought, but at least when he finally fell asleep this night, he was spared the affliction of dreams and slept as though given a Draught of Living Death. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tolkien's quotes, not mine (c) 
> 
> Extra FYI for something that was understood during Tolkien's age, but not today.   
> Gimli's gift from the Lady: Historically, giving a lock of one's hair to someone has been considered a sign of love and devotion, especially before an impending separation.


	12. The Olive Branch and the Vision

The following days took them down the swift, wild waters of the river, which had changed from the Silverlode to The Great River of Wilderland, also known by the Elves as the Anduin, upon leaving Lothlórien. Staying at the bow and concentrating on keeping balanced, Harry soon came to the conclusion that while the elven boats were built successfully for navigating powerful currents with more ease, they were not the most comfortable to share for hours and hours on end with two other men...er... people. At the same time, it certainly allowed him to get to know Gimli and Legolas better.

Not that either the Dwarf or Elf ever spoke to him directly; their own friendly conversation generally centred around time spent in Lothlórien among the elves, times Harry had not been a part of. But that didn't mean Harry didn't pay attention to the discussions taking place behind him; there was little else for him to do, after all. By listening quietly, he learned all of Gimli's and Legolas' favourite places in Lothlórien, along with bits of Elven and Dwarvish history.

But Harry might as well have been in a completely separate boat for all the attention he got from the other two; that, or completely invisible. He would never complain either way, as being ignored was usually preferred to being the centre of attention. But all the same, when the skies began to darken and Aragorn directed the three boats to shore for the night, Harry would have to admit to feeling a bit of anger at being so blatantly disregarded as he sat apart from the Company even on land.

The hobbits were usually good at including him, but upon leaving Lothlórien even they had felt some of the dangers of being on the road once more and had sobered noticeably. And more nights than most, Harry found himself eying the Elf and Dwarf, who seemed to be in their own little world. A world only Aragorn and Boromir ever seemed to be able to invade successfully. Knowing this, Harry was more shocked than surprised when four days after they had left Lothlórien, Legolas came over to talk to him. Without Gimli.

Harry was in the middle of dragging their boat ashore for the night when Legolas came up behind him, curled his fingers around the edge of the gunnel and started pulling alongside Harry, lending the needed force to extract it from the water and muck with a great sucking sound. Startled by how much easier his task had become so suddenly, Harry jerked back and almost tripped over himself as Legolas helped him pull the small craft onto land.

Once the boat was safely ashore, with no risk of it floating away, Harry turned and thanked the elf, wondering why he was helping in the first place when only moments before Harry had heard him talking to Gimli on the far side of camp. On the water or off, the two were inseparable and Harry wondered if he shouldn't be suspicious of the duo. Even he and Ron had never spent that much time together, and they had shared a dormitory! But once more he kept his thoughts to himself, standing by the boat somewhat awkwardly as he watched Legolas, who seemed reluctant to move away.

Legolas nodded, a little belatedly, in response to his thanks and for a moment they just stood there, looking away from one another; Legolas at the rushing waters they'd recently left behind, and Harry at the small fire that Sam was attempting to start with what looked to be wet wood. Harry had a feeling that Legolas had something to say to him, and instead of walking off to the far side of camp or sitting beside Frodo to keep him silent company, Harry waited. He supposed it probably didn't matter what Legolas intended to say to him, as it was likely nothing of real significance, but he found himself staying all the same.

Abruptly, the somewhat awkward silence was broken. "I've noticed you are very quiet," Legolas said softly, "You have said fewer words than Frodo, and for one bearing a burden so great, that is very troubling."

When Harry did not immediately reply, Legolas continued, undeterred. "I will admit, I did not at first understand your antagonism towards Lady Galadriel when we entered into the heart of Caras Galadhon, but after listening to what you had to say, as well as watching you closely during the moments of shared meals at night, I think I finally comprehend why your lips move so seldom, and the reason behind your mysterious connection to Frodo, that none other in the Company can seem to grasp.

“Our eyes have been struck blind and our ears been shot a deafening blow without our knowledge, for all we had been able to see was the foreign magic you wielded with such ease and our hackles were raised on instinct, as quickly as I can pull and notch an arrow from my quiver, and Aragorn can draw his sword."

Harry, who had been looking staunchly at the fire slowly building with Aragorn's help, now looked up in surprise, his eyebrows raised in silent question for Legolas to go on. He was not sure if he cared what Legolas' opinion was, but he admitted to being curious all the same. It didn't seem like the elf had paid him any attention since that first night where they had all been blindfolded and Harry had awoken to his comforting song. But perhaps he had been wrong, and the elf was subtler than Harry had realised. He seemed to have finally seen something in Harry at least, for he would not have wasted such fine words for him otherwise. Harry had noted that when not speaking with Gimli or discussing plans with Aragorn, Legolas was quite quiet and reticent himself.

"It is a language spoken with your very body, in your shoulders, crying out to any who would notice that you have carried a burden much heavier than one your young age should ever have borne, much like Frodo. Alas, though it pains my mind to see a child that has been forced to fight the evils of the Dark at so young an age, it is clear to my eyes that you have become much stronger from such responsibility and tests of strength and will. You are no longer a child, but a man; a fact that was not clear to me before recognising this.

"I admit, I did not understand you before, and I know there is still much about you that my eyes do not yet see, but it is important that you know how much I have come to respect you. And though it is frustrating to do little but walk around the wall you have erected so strongly about yourself, I know that to be familiar with even but a branch of a mighty oak tree is better than being left to study only a single leaf. And so it is also enough to appreciate that you are a good man, and I suspect a mightily powerful wizard as well."

Legolas then offered his hand, thrusting it between himself and Harry and leaving it there for Harry to make the next move.

Harry could but blink for a moment. To say that he was shocked would be the understatement of the year. But at the same time, he could not help but feel touched by the elf's heartfelt words. If anything, it was more than an apology for Legolas' previous standoffish behaviour of ignoring Harry entirely in favour of Gimli, and it more than hinted at the offering of friendship. After cutting through the long-winded, flowery language, Harry thought he could hear the simple invitation for Harry to join him in a conversation that went deeper than 'Your turn for watch' or 'Are you done with that'?

Surprisingly, Harry found himself very open to the idea. Of course, he knew his pleased feelings of anticipation must have somewhat to do with the fact that he was being welcomed officially by yet another member of the Fellowship –only Gimli and Boromir were currently left to do so. And since he'd fully realised just how famous this Fellowship actually was, full acceptance into the group seemed particularly important. Tolkien may not have originally written it this way when he Saw the Company set out to destroy the Ring, but Harry was very much a part of the Fellowship now, and it seemed important that each of the other eight in the group know that.

Though he and Legolas still had a few more things to smooth over before Harry would fully accept his friendship, he knew this was as good a start as any. And what was more, Harry hoped it meant that it would bring him that much closer to finding out what he needed to from the elf, that prophecy-sounding thing being foremost in his mind. At the same time, part of him felt desperate for a friend in this world who did not look so closely like a child to his mind.

Making a final decision, Harry looked down at Legolas' hand. And then, remembering how he had seen Aragorn and Legolas exchange greetings a few days earlier, Harry clasped his hand around Legolas' forearm and gripped it firmly. With a small shake, he looked Legolas dead in the eye and nodded definitively. As he did so, he felt a slight burst of what felt like pure energy jolt in his chest, making him catch his breath for the moment and stand up a bit straighter in reaction. But just as swiftly as he felt it, swelling and swirling in his chest with the force of an over-powered Lumos spell, it was gone again, as soon as he released Legolas' arm a second later.

Shaking off the aftermath of the feeling, imagining it probably had something to do with the sudden sense of satisfaction and a bit of contentment at having won Legolas over, he squared his shoulders and took a seat by the beached boat to wait until Sam was ready with dinner.  
Legolas remained standing for several seconds more, staring down at Harry with a guarded expression on his face, before dropping gracefully next to Harry, a bit closer than he would have earlier, but farther away than he would have if he were sitting next to Gimli or Aragorn, Harry noted.

They spent a few minutes in silence, both looking out to the rushing waters. And for once, Harry thought it was nice to sit in silence, one not overpowered by awkwardness like he sometimes experienced on the boat with the two of them, well aware that he was the unnecessary third wheel of that party. Nor was it the heavy, sobering kind of silence that bespoke of the weight of the world resting in the balance upon your shoulders, as Harry frequently experienced while in the company of Frodo.

This, this was just...content. Harry liked it. He wasn't in the mood to pull answers out of Legolas just yet, he was too tired at the moment. But he didn't mind spending a few moments in companionable silence with the elf. It was calming, really.

"Have you had a chance to look through the map gifted to you by the Lord and Lady?" Legolas asked abruptly, making Harry bring his eyes back into focus where they had relaxed and drifted off while he'd sunk deeper and deeper into his own thoughts. Harry forced himself to concentrate back on the present moment and not the lulling, hypnotic places in his brain he had been heading towards while watching the river rolling endlessly by him and turned towards Legolas.

"Huh?" Harry shook his head and blinked up at Legolas, who was still facing forward, though his eyes flickered to the side to regard Harry with a small smile on his face at Harry's reaction, no doubt. "Oh, erm, no, not yet. I guess it's foolish of me to think I'll get a moment alone to look over them quietly, but," he trailed off and finished with a nonverbal shrug.

Legolas nodded in understanding. "May I ask you a question?"

Harry shrugged again. "I don't see why not. Doesn't mean I'll answer. But ask away," he said with a blasé wave of his hand and a friendly smile.

Legolas took a moment to mull over his own words before asking, "Why did you ask for a map of all things? Lady Galadriel would have been willing to give you most anything – a piece of her hair, even," he added offhandedly with a grin, "Yet you ask for something so simple."

Harry frowned as he looked down at the slippery stones beneath his feet, slick from the spray that misted them from the raging river still so close by, though far enough away to not drag them under and along its swift footed path. Harry mulled over his answer, realising that, perhaps without meaning to, Legolas had told a little bit about himself with that one question. And that had surprised Harry more than he would have expected. For though Legolas was an elf, it seemed that his People did not have quite the same innate 'magic' as that those in Lothlórien possessed. That, or Legolas took it for granted much like the Elves of Lothlórien, and thus did not see the value in something he considered so simple coming from a group where all simple things could be made into the extraordinary. Either way, it seemed Legolas did not understand what seemed so obvious to Harry's eyes.

"If it were just a map, yes," Harry agreed eventually, hesitantly. "But it would be foolish to think a map belonging to the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien to be just a map. Besides," he said, hoping to change the topic, "it might be 'simple', but I know if I somehow get separated from the group, I'll be completely lost without it, which then renders it invaluable to me. What's more, it would be good to know more about this world in general, you know?" He shrugged again, wishing Legolas would recognise the practicality of it all and overlook the fact that Harry was hoping his new map would contain some unknown magic for him to uncover.

Harry turned then to see Legolas staring straight at him as though he was some kind of puzzle. Harry worried for a moment that Legolas would not understand or choose to take it the wrong way somehow.

Finally, Legolas nodded. "Yes, I think I see." He smiled faintly. "A wise request, indeed. But still," he added a bit brusquely, "let us hope it does not come to that. Being entirely new to this land, it would not bode well for you to be lost and out on your own. Even the hobbits know more than you do, and they had never left their homes in the Shire before venturing off on this quest. And the Shire is but a small piece of the vast lands of Middle Earth."

"But the Shire is the very best of all the lands of Middle Earth!" Pippin cried, appearing suddenly behind them with a huge, confident smile on his face and coming to sit down on Harry's other side, interrupting whatever Harry had been about to say in reply to Legolas.

"Now that is a place you must check on your map, Harry. I'll help you find it, so you'll know exactly where to go to see the best that Middle Earth has to offer.

"And after this business with the Ring, once Frodo's destroyed it well and good, you'll come back with us and receive the finest hospitality in all the lands! No one knows how to treat a guest better than a hobbit, especially a Took." Pippin nodded and winked merrily at Harry as he continued to grin confidently.

Harry's look of surprise switched to a mischievous grin when a second later Pippin was pushed to the side as Merry jostled playfully into his friend. "You mean no one could take care of our wizard better than a _Brandybuck_. If Harry's coming to the Shire, he needs to see how a real hobbit can cook."

"Oi!" Sam called over to the group, glaring mockingly at the two hobbits, who were still pushing at each other, trying to throw the other off the log they were sitting on, "If any hobbit here can claim to be a good cook it should be the one doing the actual cooking for this group. I've not seen the two of you layabouts volunteering your alleged skills over the fire."

Just as the two hobbits started yelling back in protest, Harry took Sam's cue and picked Pippin up by the hood of his cloak and started carrying him over to the larger group gathering around the fire, where Sam was beginning to dish out plates. Behind him, he could hear Merry's remarks being cut off similarly. Harry looked behind to see Legolas pushing the other hobbit along good-naturedly by his shoulder.

Catching Legolas' gaze, Harry rolled his eyes, smiling as Legolas raised his eyebrows in return in exasperation, and then turned to take a seat between Frodo and Merry.

Situated right in the middle of the group of hobbits, Harry hunkered down and dug into his food, having found that if he wasn't quick enough, Pippin would attempt to help clean the food off his plate for him. So it was a while before he looked up to see Legolas and Gimli sitting across from him, in conversation once more, with Aragorn on Legolas' left adding the odd comment, and Boromir on Gimli's right staring at the small fire.

The man’s gaze flickered up to Frodo disconcertingly every now and then. But apart from Boromir's uneasy stares, Harry was surprised to find that he was strangely at ease for once, sitting amongst the Fellowship. Like he belonged somehow. And being left out of conversations he could not participate in, as the subjects tended to be things Harry had no experience or knowledge in, no longer bothered him.

He did not begrudge Legolas and Gimli their friendship. Nor Legolas and Aragorn's easy camaraderie that seemed to speak of decades and decades together - giving Harry the impression that Aragorn was much older than he looked. He did not even care that Gimli and Boromir were able to connect so effortlessly on things like weapons and the mutual love of telling horror stories about the lands of Mordor to scare the hobbits.

He did not even blink anymore to hear Merry and Pippin jabber on in half gibberish, finishing each other's sentences with ease, like a pair of twins Harry once knew. Or how even when Frodo remained silent throughout the meal, Sam always seemed to know what he was thinking or what he needed.

Watching it all, Harry could clearly see the genuine friendships held amongst the Fellowship. It was so deep and trusting. They were friendships of a rare, selfless kind, which Harry was sad to note no longer existed in his world. It was a profound type of brotherhood that Harry could recall reading only in books from ages long past.

He knew his friendship with Ron and Hermione was unique and special. Living through life or death situations together tended to be rare, and theirs was the exception. He knew he was blessed to have them both as dear friends. And he supposed their relationship could be considered comparable to the Fellowship, but there was still something foreign about what he was witnessing here.

Perhaps it was the strangeness of being in this world that was still so new to him, but he felt that such lasting friendships were much more common here. More genuine and not taken for granted in the same way friendships in Harry's world were. And that knowledge both saddened and heartened him.

More than anything, whether he was able to participate in the conversations and follow the odd directions that they went in, Harry knew that he wanted to be part of this brotherhood. A brotherhood that was at once so familiar and yet so alien to him. Being forced to sit out on the fringe, like he had done since his time with the Dursleys and throughout his magical education, was not a place he felt comfortable anymore.

Once again, he recognised just how important Ron and Hermione were to him when they were no longer there by his side, and how keenly he felt their loss. He knew that this time he was someplace they could not follow, and he hoped they were at least moving on with their lives with each other and not worrying over him too much.

He was beginning to think - if he was staying here for a while yet - that he might come to be recognised as a full member of the Fellowship by all. Hopefully.

True, this world was not his own and there were things in it that continued to inexplicably escape him, many going way over his head without his knowledge. But slowly – somehow – he thought he might finally be finding his place with them. The hobbits, at least, seemed to have already taken him in as one of their own. That was not his first invitation to the Shire, from all four hobbits in fact. And by now, its very name brought images of the Burrow to his mind, though he somehow doubted anyone could beat Mrs Weasley's cooking. Nonetheless, he was willing to give it a try and was certainly looking forward to when this entire mission with the Ring was over and done so he could find out for himself.

Later, after all the plates were cleaned and all traces of leftover food had been put away by the hobbits, the Company gathered round and the topic of where to go next was once again up for discussion. By the end of the hour, during which the sun had all but disappeared from the sky, they had agreed to follow the Anduin to Amon Hen, by Rauros Falls, where they would depart for Mordor by crossing the Emyn Muil to the Wetwang on foot. From there they would get back on the Anduin til they reached Osgiliath, where Boromir would rally his people to fight before the Black Gates of Mordor. Meanwhile, Frodo and a contingent of the Fellowship would sneak away from the Enemy's eye and hopefully find some kind of back door into Barad-dûr. Stealing inside in a way the Enemy would hopefully not expect. But it was still unclear where this alleged rear entry would be, who would be coming on that final journey, and how they would trek through the Enemy's land undiscovered from there to Mt Doom.

Gimli kept bringing up stories about another dwarf, Thorin Oakenshield, who had found a back door to the Lonely Mountains in order to retrieve dwarven treasure from a dragon. It all sounded somewhat familiar, and at Frodo's nod, Harry realised that must have been the infamous adventure of Bilbo's that had brought the Baggins into this mess in the first place. And now that same adventure was being referred back to in an attempt to use similar wisdom to infiltrate yet another enemy, one that was deadly to all of Middle Earth, not just a small Dwarven or Human population.

In the end, it all sounded suicidal to Harry, especially hearing Gimli and Boromir tell of what dangers lay ahead in the lands of Mordor. Which were repeated with frequency and emphasis in a way Harry was beginning to grimly appreciate. Aragorn, however, remained adamant of their path. Harry noted that he had finally made up his mind to a degree and was now determined to see Frodo through to the end, though it was clear that his decision was still weighing heavily on his mind.

Harry remained quiet throughout the discussion and was content once again to just listen to them arguing the merits of each path. Aragorn, however, suddenly developed the impression that Harry had more to contribute than he had originally assumed. "Harry, might we see the map Lady Galadriel gifted you? I think it would aid greatly in our discussion." All eyes turned to Harry at that, waiting for him to respond expectantly.

Surprised and feeling particularly possessive of his gift, a fact he had told Legolas only a few hours ago, Harry frowned and regarded the group silently. Lady Galadriel had said the map was for his eyes only, and if she had meant to include the Fellowship in that, she would have said so, or so he thought. Uncertain and waiting to be convinced, Harry stared unblinkingly at Aragorn, not moving to comply nor speaking up to deny him his request. At least not yet.

For some reason, in his head, he had begun to equate his ownership of the map to that of his Invisibility Cloak, Firebolt, and Marauder’s Map. All items that were valuable in and of themselves but held particularly special meaning to Harry. And not just anyone had been privy to see or share in those objects either.

Aragorn met his gaze evenly before sighing and raising his open palms to Harry in surrender. Speaking softly, he admitted, "I am curious whether there is not a message of some type left by the Lord and Lady to aid us in our journey. I am certain Gandalf had a better way for us to follow, but it matters not anymore as our way is now our own to set. But considering how our journey thus far has unfolded rather unexpectedly down so many strange paths before our feet, I believe, the more information we have the better. I am determined to give Frodo as much of an advantage as possible and I think that our answers could lie in your map."

Of course, he had to pull the Frodo card, Harry thought, making any answer but acquiescence seem vindictive and selfish. So, not saying anything, Harry stood to retrieve his map, which was hidden deep at the bottom of his bag, wrapped in one of his tunics in addition to the smooth leather casing it had come encased within. Keeping his back to the Company, he felt he should at least have the privacy to open it for the first time on his own, Harry undid the knot holding it in place with string made of the same soft, worn leather the casing was made out of, and slowly unrolled it.

The parchment crackled beneath his fingers as he smoothed it out and a colourful, ink-laid land spread out before him. Large mountains, long, silvery rivers, deep green forestlands, wide seas, lakes, and great expanses of flat fields that surely must cover hundreds and hundreds of miles, at least, were depicted on the aged scroll. It was so beautiful and intricately drawn that Harry wondered for a moment whether he was not staring into a miniature model of some type. It was exquisitely done; not at all what Harry had expected when he'd first requested it. But neither was he surprised in the least.

Upon first glance, all the names of places were written out in the stylish, flowing script of Elvish as Harry had seen used in Caras Galadhon, but before his eyes, the characters began to change until all the Elvish words had morphed to English. He blinked once and then squeezed his eyes shut for several seconds before opening them again to be sure he had not missed something.

But sure enough, the entire map was now written out in English for his own easy reading. Elvish 'magic' indeed. He wished he had more time to sit down and explore what other wonders and secrets this map held, but unfortunately, he could hear the others shuffling and shifting impatiently behind him, and he knew his time was up. And though he was beyond reluctant to share such a beautiful treasure with the others, certain that such a piece of magic was truly only meant for those who could discover its mysteries and understand its makeup, as surely only an elf or wizard could, he begrudgingly turned around and took his seat back inside the circle.

If he didn't watch himself, he was sure he would begin to sound like Hermione with all her academic talk of how Magic had a language of its own that only could be interpreted by a select few; but honestly, he couldn't begin to care as he was now certain of his possessiveness over the map. And he was also sure now that Lady Galadriel knew what she was doing by giving it to him too.

Carefully, not caring about the rude remarks he was getting from both Gimli and Boromir for his sluggish pace, Harry laid the map on a flat boulder to his right and waited for the rest of the Company to gather round and see. He warded off wandering hands, all most curious to trace the lines that made up the mountains and rivers and plains, as though they were not made of just paper. The way they were drawn gave spectators the impression that their fingers would touch solid stone and cool water if they made contact. And perhaps if their fingers lingered long enough, they would. But Harry planned on finding that out for himself, not through allowing others' curiosity to reign. He relented though when Aragorn came to the fore and crouched forward until his nose was mere inches from parchment – making Harry bite back a warning remark; just barely.

Aragorn was silent, only his eyes moving as he scanned the landscape laid out before him. Harry stayed close, at his shoulder, keeping the others at a far enough distance as he perused the map with the other man. But while Aragorn was looking at all the tiny details, Harry found himself trying to memorise the layout of the territories and orient himself to all the foreign names and landmarks, while trying to figure out where they currently were.

At this point, the genius that was behind the Marauder's Map that pinpointed people's locations would have been useful, even just those within a 50-mile radius of the holder. Yet another thing he should have asked Sirius or Remus about before they'd died. So many things he would never know.

Behind him he could hear Pippin complaining to Merry that he could not see; Legolas breathing out an exclamation of awe at the beautiful piece of eleven work; and Gimli roughly humming his agreement. The rest seemed to have been left speechless or similarly could not see, but Harry ignored them all in favour of continuing to study the map before him, feeling a certain pride in knowing that it belonged to him now.

Eventually, Harry was able to find the general area of their current location after he had located the verdant land that was Lothlórien and following the Silverlode south. Inducing from the fact that Legolas had said earlier they were at an inverse fork in the river, where the River Limlight flowed into the Anduin, Harry figured they had to be beside the Field of Celebrant, just above the Brown Lands and The Wold.

He was surprised to find that Mordor was not all that far away. In fact, if he'd been familiar with the location, he could have easily Apparated to its boarders without breaking a sweat. But as it were, even with a detailed map, he could only follow which direction to go, nothing more. Even the precise elven pictures could not replace the need to actually visualise one's destination. The determination and deliberation Harry could easily muster.

Aragorn finally gave a sigh of frustration and Harry turned to see the man shaking his head in defeat.

"Despite the fine craftsmanship and intricate detail, there is nothing more here than on any other map." He stepped back and turned away, looking past the Company to the water, deep in thought.

Harry could see Legolas' shoulders slump in disappointment that an elven craft did not have the answers they needed, no doubt. But Harry could barely suppress the feeling of satisfaction building inside himself, while simultaneously forcing himself to ignore the veiled insult of Aragorn's words that his map was nothing special. He didn't know if all maps on Middle Earth changed languages and looked so life-like, but he had a suspicion that it was indeed for his eyes alone, as Lady Galadriel had said. Just taking it out to share with the Company had felt wrong, like he was going back on his word, which technically, he was.

But whether Aragorn did or did not see the magic that was in his map was of no consequence, as it was settled shortly afterwards that they would discuss it further when they had reached Gondor. And with that everyone bid each other a good night as Harry stood to take first watch.  
Harry looked on as the Fellowship retrieved their bedrolls from their bags and laid them near the fire, all staying close together. Walking around to stretch his legs, Harry paced the perimeter of their campsite, gearing himself up for the next few hours. Boromir would relieve him at midnight. But until then, Harry was left to his own devices watching the others as they slept and keeping an eye out for orcs or any other nasty creatures set on doing them harm.

Harry kept his wand out, resting it against his leg when he finally sat down on a boulder at the edge of camp, just outside the circle of sleeping bodies. He swept his eyes from side to side, staying alert for any dangers. But though he tried to deny it, he knew he was tired, and he still had four hours yet before he could get some shuteye himself.

Tapping his wand rhythmically against his thigh, he let his wandering gaze come to a rest as his head bobbed up and down, doing his best to fight off the temptations of sleep. He could just feel the darkness spreading and becoming more complete, blurring the scene of the campsite in front of him and muting the sounds of the rushing waters that roared above all other noise.

Suddenly, his entire body went rigid and a bright light flashed behind his closed eyelids. And then he was in the air; his mind’s eye showing him the familiar raging waters of the river they had been travelling on now rushing beneath him. A split second later and he was traversing green and yellow fields on one side and a sparse forest in the distance on the other. In the next instance, Harry was in the middle of a dark, dense forest. The trees were so old that they all hung with thick, green and white moss and seemed bent over like old men walking without a cane. He passed over another river, this one much smaller and not as powerful, but dangerous nonetheless, and then he found himself walking through a mountain pass, steep with white mountains and green valleys, making for traitorous terrain.

But then the world seemed to drop and all that was green died. Brown, barren land stretched out before him into nothingness, and as he flew over the dead, treeless, grassless area he feared that it would never end, until he suddenly came to an abrupt halt and looked up.  
A tall, black tower, with top pikes shaped like a mighty, deadly crown, rose up in the middle of a circular stone and dirt platform. The surrounding area burned with smoke-filled holes that went deep into the earth. Reaching the tower, Harry flew through countless staircases and dark, Spartan marble rooms until he reached a circular hall that was the harshest and bleakest room of them all.

Black marble floors, unforgiving, ridged, stone walls, and in the middle of it all stood a tall, old man with a long, white beard and a fierce scowl on his face. His entire attention was focused on a stone pillar, atop which lay a black orb the size of a quaffle, swirling with thunderous reds, greens, and blues that were hypnotic to the wandering eye. The old man, who held a long, white staff in his hand, raised his other hand to rest upon the orb, his abnormally long finger nails clicking against the stone. His eyes were closed, and he seemed to be in deep concentration, but even from here, in the few seconds while Harry stood still watching, Harry could tell that this man was evil. His very presence radiated authority and power that seemed so corrupt and twisted that Harry felt suffocated even just visualising a room occupied by him.  
His aura was not quite as powerful as Voldemort's, but Harry thought it came damn near close enough.

And then, in an effort to look away from the evil man, who Harry had the distinct feeling was a wizard – his mental voice sounding quite sure of itself – Harry turned to look directly at the black orb. And then he saw it. For the third time since coming to Middle Earth. That great, fiery red, lidless eye that stared out with a frightening sentience that made Harry shiver where he sat, as it seared into Harry's soul and kept his feet rooted to the ground while time seemed to stop altogether.

_'I see you.'_ A voice that was low and gravelly and seemed to barely exist, while simultaneously blaring in his mind with all the sound of a Sonorous, repeated over and over until the words overlapped and Harry could hear nothing else but the evil, threatening cry echoing continually in his head. A fear so deep, like none he had ever felt before, even in the presence of the Dementors themselves, spread through his body. His heart was beating so fast Harry was sure it would seize up and cease to function any second. He wished he was anywhere but where he was at the moment – back facing Voldemort himself! – but that thought was quickly strangled as he fought with all his might to banish the roaring voice. Harry did not know for how long he stayed there, but eventually he felt that needed determination rise up in him, aided by a strength he could not name. Using that sudden flash of clarity, he gathered all the force of Occlumency he possessed and wrenched his gaze away.

With a start, he blinked his eyes open to find himself back in the campsite with the Fellowship.  
The stars were burning brightly in the sky again, the waters were rushing deafeningly behind him, and the chests of all the Company rose and fell in sleep just within reach of his vision.  
Breathing heavily as though he had just run several miles without stopping, Harry pitched forward and gripped his head in his hands as his body and mind adjusted to all he had seen, and the fact that he hadn't technically moved from his watch position beside the Anduin.

It had all seemed so real, and a certain conversation in the back of his head with another old man with a long white beard reminded him that though it had indeed been in his head that did not make it any less real. Which meant several things to Harry, he realised when his breath had finally steadied, and his vision was no longer overlapped in angry reds and fiery yellows.

One - the Enemy, Sauron, had seen him. He did not know if he had viewed anything in Harry's mind to know his identity, nor could he tell if his thoughts had been attacked or if the voice had just pierced his mind torturously and nothing more. Although the fact that He had seen Harry at all was enough.

Two - the wizard with the white staff was Saruman the White, an evil wizard that needed to be defeated.

And three - that black orb needed to be destroyed.

The only problem was...okay, there were several problems, he knew, but one seemed most pressing and obvious. He knew without a doubt that this was something he needed to do alone. The Fellowship could not come with him, they needed to focus on the Ring, and Harry had just been given a mission to bring about the downfall of Sauron's strongest supporter, Saruman the White.

Straightening up to look around him with wide, unseeing eyes, Harry slumped back as the enormity of his task sunk in. The world of Middle Earth that before had seemed so vast and unending, suddenly closed in upon him suffocatingly. A silent, barely voiced cry of 'why me' went unacknowledged, before Harry closed his eyes, took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and then began to plan.

Looking at his watch – a present from Sirius, something he was surprised to find still worked in this world – he found that his 'vision', if that's what it was, had lasted for no more than half a minute. He still had four hours to figure out what to do and then sneak away before any of the Fellowship awoke.

It was just under two hours later when Harry got up, checked his pack for all that he would need, making sure to secure the map in its proper place once more, and then walked over to the cold campfire that had died out hours before. He picked up several pieces of unused wood as well as the wood that was only slightly burnt, and brought them over to the water's edge, next to where he had pulled their boat ashore.

He had never been particularly skilled at Transfiguration. In fact, depending on whom you asked, he was just above average in his proficiency. But like he had found so many times before when presented with a dire mission, like saving the Philosopher's Stone, killing a 50-foot basilisk, or fending off a swarm of Dementors, you just have to trust your instincts and pray you had the power within to pull it off.

He was pretty sure he had the power, as not just any wizard could produce a full-fledged, corporeal Patronus, let alone drive off dozens and dozens of Dementors by oneself. The rest of it he was sure came down to luck and having good friends and help come at just the right moment. But a bit of it – just a bit, mind – had to come down to pure talent, instinct, reflex, and innate power. Harry knew he had to use that power for this next task and be confident in himself that he would be successful.

" _Navis Ligneous,_ " Harry said confidently in a firm, steady voice, concentrating on the pile of wood at his feet.

Nothing happened.

Taking a deep breath, Harry grit his teeth and tried again.

" _Navis Ligneous_."

The wood jumped up and started to meld together, but seconds later the spell faded and what was left was only a disfigured ball of wood...or something. Another deep breath, and Harry concentrated in his mind on exactly what he wanted; a small boat that would hold him and his pack, and that could navigate the dangerous waters he'd gotten used to travelling on these past few days.

A boat; he needed a boat.

Closing his eyes, Harry concentrated again on letting the power build up inside of him. Like exercising his Occlumency, it was all about focus and application.

Again.

" _Navis Ligneous_."

A sudden whoosh of power left him and without looking, he knew without a doubt he had succeeded this time. Opening his eyes, he was only slightly disappointed to see a small, slightly lopsided raft with a simple rudder lying on its side before him.

It had nothing on the elven crafts by far, but it would have to do, he thought with a nod. And with his pack slung tightly on his back, he bent down and started pushing the device into the water. He had already cast a shield around the Fellowship, which should last for a couple hours at least. He had also set an alarm twenty feet out that would go off should anything bigger than a rabbit trip it. And another small alarm clock had been set next to Boromir, which would go off in two hours to wake him for his shift.

He would let the Company know where he had gone –or his general plan so as not to worry them – through other magical means when it was time, but by then he would be hours and hours away. Also, by then he hoped they would realise he wasn't worth following. He had decided against leaving a note, not really knowing what to say. He just hoped he would be able to meet up with them again after his task was complete and explain himself. It felt so wrong to leave now, but a voice in his head that reminded him irritatingly of the one that had bestowed him with the bit of knowledge of Middle Earth on his first arrival, pushed incessantly that this was the only way.

Finally turning away, Harry pushed the raft fully into the water and stepped aboard. From looking at the map and relying on the memories from his vision, he knew he would continue to go downstream until the river split into two paths. He would take the right turn, which should send him upstream along the River Limlight. He would follow that until he reached that ancient looking forest, he guessed was Fangorn, upon comparing the shortened journey in his mind to his map. From there he would have to leave his raft to go on foot. He truly hoped that the deadly tales about that forest which he'd heard from Lord Celeborn and Boromir were indeed nothing more than oldwives tales told to children to keep them safe from the unknown.

Harry watched as the sleeping figures of the Company drifted further and further away until they disappeared completely into the darkness of the night.

Pinching himself to stay awake and turning his focus entirely on steering the raft and not crashing, Harry looked ahead and sailed on.

He should be on the Limlight by morning.


	13. Prongs

That next morning, Legolas did not wake to the light of the sun dusting his face, but to an odd, strangely strong joyous feeling that he sensed emanating from someone nearby. Opening his eyes, he was astonished to see a shining, silvery stag pawing the ground in front of him. Elves being strong empaths, Legolas was surprised to note how nothing but joy and happiness radiated from this creature; an odd thing in itself. Yet Legolas could not find it in himself to fear the strange creature, though he did not know from where it could have come.

“What marvellous thing are you?” He asked the beast softly as he quickly stood to examine the animal, which did not seem frightened, despite the fact it was surrounded by so many people. Legolas reached up a hand to pet the side of its head, but his movements were arrested when a familiar voice suddenly spoke from the creature, though its mouth did not move.

“Good morning,” Harry’s voice announced as though he were standing right in front of Legolas instead of this brilliant stag. Legolas blinked, his face having gone slack in bewilderment and amazement. “This is a message sent through my Patronus, Prongs, to the Company. I, Harry, the wizard, have been called off to complete a solo mission, but will be back to re-join the Fellowship as soon as I am able. There’s just something I need to take care of before I can finish helping Frodo on his quest. Keep going as planned, and even if you change course, I will still be able to find you. Good luck.”

Harry’s voice faded out as the message came to an end, and the creature, its task complete, wandered off to walk among the still sleeping Fellowship, before eventually returning to Legolas’ side.

Legolas watched the creature’s movements passively, but in the pit of his stomach he could feel dread, fear, and disbelief building into a searing lump of coal.

Harry was gone.

Harry had left.

Harry, the wizard he, Legolas, was supposed to protect, as dictated from the prophecy.

Harry, who would supposedly become the legendary Lone Warrior.

And Legolas had no clue where he had gone.

How could this have happened? Where could he have gone in such short a time? Who was supposed to be on watch?

Harry was! Harry had been on first watch, followed by...Boromir!

Legolas got up and tore through the camp to the other side of the bank, nearer to the small forest, where he saw Boromir leaning against a fallen tree, looking alert, though a little tired. The man’s eyes were fixed warily on the silver stag that had followed Legolas and was standing at his side.

“What trickery is this?” Boromir asked, an expression of deep suspicion descending on his face; he stood swiftly and took a step back from the odd beast as the pair continued to approach.

“What happened to Harry?” Legolas questioned in a voice of deadly calm. His mind was currently in turmoil; he had thought he’d finally been making progress. He understood a bit of who Harry was, what kind of history must have plagued him to have shaped the wizard so and was finally beginning to accept their fate as a pair. He had even made the first move and offered Harry the hand of friendship, while asking for forgiveness for his earlier mistrust. And Harry had accepted! And then not but a few hours later, Harry leaves while _this_ man in front of him was supposed to have relieved the young man from his watch.

“What do you mean, ‘where is Harry’; he should be here,” he trailed off, a puzzled look scrunching up his countenance as his eyes quickly scanned the group of bodies wrapped in blankets that was the Company.

Legolas’ eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“I’m sure the boy’s just off in the woods for a moment.” Boromir finally decided, shaking his head dismissively. “No need to worry. What you should be worrying about is that beast at your shoulder. I have never heard tell of an animal matching such a description. Take care; it could belong to the Enemy!”

But Legolas did not hear any words of Boromir’s warning. He had stopped listening after a point.

No need to worry? No need to worry!

“Did you not think it odd when Harry did not come to wake you personally?” Legolas burst out suddenly, yelling incredulously down at the man, who was at least an inch shorter than the blonde elf.

The Fellowship, who had woken at the unexpected noise that rose above even the roar of the river, were shocked into silence as they watched Legolas bear down upon Boromir with a rage in his eyes they’d never seen reflected there before. In fact, it was the first time any in the Company, other than Aragorn, had truly heard the elf raise his voice so loudly, and it was an impressively scary thing to experience.

Boromir sputtered, outraged, in response, “The boy _did_ wake me!”

“Then were your eyes so blind to let him walk off into the night without your notice?” Legolas thundered. “Or did they close in the night against your will and –”

“How dare you question my ability to keep watch?!” Boromir bellowed over him, “I’ve been doing this since I was a boy, I’ve held the fort of Osgiliath from the forces of Mordor for longer than that wizard has been alive. I think I would know if a mere boy had left under my vigil.”

“Then how do you explain his sudden disappearance and the message he has left?”

“How should I know what trickery the boy used? All I am sure of is that the boy woke me at midnight, and then went to his cot to sleep. No one has moved since; I would have seen. I did not sleep a wink since I began my watch, and I thank you to not doubt my ability to stay awake for a few hours like a mere child.”

“He must have left during your watch if he was here to wake you,” Legolas said forcefully as though he thought Boromir very stupid, which indeed he did. How could the man be so ignorant and blind? “I suppose an army of orcs could have come through in the night and you wouldn’t have seen _them_ either?”

Boromir looked like he was about to reach for his sword in a moment as he drew himself up to his full height and took a deep breath, no doubt to yell another invective at the elf, when Aragorn leapt up and ran to stand between the two.

“Peace, peace!” Aragorn “Legolas, I am sure Boromir did not fall to the temptations of sleep while on watch. There must be another explanation for Harry’s disappearance. Let us take a breath and be calm for a moment, or we will not be able to clear our heads enough to find the young wizard.”

“Harry’s gone?” Frodo’s voice was quiet as he looked up at the three men, an expression of fear on his face as he started to frantically search around the camp for any trace of the young wizard.

“What do you mean, Harry’s gone!?” Pippin cried, going over to the space where Harry had been last night, kicking up the rocks and dirt as though he would find something in it.

“He seems to have slipped away while Boromir was on watch,” Legolas answered in a low growl. And then chaos descended upon the camp as the voices of the Fellowship rose, some in shock and anger, others in fear and confusion. The campsite was soon set a wreck as bags, blankets, food, and cooking supplies, among other things, were strewn about, searching for Harry’s belongings or any clue the wizard might have left behind.

There was nothing.

“I did not fall asleep and I did not see the boy leave!” Boromir finally yelled loudest above the din. “No one moved under my watch!”

“Then how did Harry leave without our knowledge?” Legolas cried back, leaning around Aragorn, who was still trying to keep the peace, to confront Boromir straight in his face.

“A _Confundus Charm_ tied to the alarm I set by Boromir’s head to wake him for his watch.”

All movement and noise suddenly stopped as all heads turned to the silvery stag that had spoken once more with Harry’s voice.

“Harry?” Pippin finally spoke up. “Did that thing eat Harry?” Pippin asked at the same time Merry asked, “Is that thing Harry?”

But the stag didn’t speak up again. It just stayed by Legolas and moved its head from side to side, regarding all those in the Fellowship with a simple look that lacked any kind of intelligence to explain its connection to Harry or its ability to speak in his voice. Besides the fact that it glowed in a silvery sheen and seemed to be made of little more than light and a swirling substance that was neither gas nor water, it looked to be nothing more than any other animal. The fact that such a stag would never be seen in this habitat went largely ignored, as there were rather more pressing matters and questions raised by its presence.

The Company did not go to the boats that morning, but ended up sitting in the same circle they had gathered around last night to discuss the current problem of Harry’s disappearance. The silver stag stayed outside the group, ambling about, but mainly keeping close to Legolas – yet another odd phenomenon none of them could understand.

“We have to go after him,” Legolas demanded, leaning forward as he glared at Aragorn defiantly.

“We don’t even know where he went,” Boromir argued back, crossing his arms in frustration and casting a quick, longing look out at the boats. “We’ve wasted enough time as it is already. You told us his message said to keep following our due course. He’ll meet us again later after he’s accomplished whatever he’s gone off to do. That is, if he’s even planning on coming back.”

“Harry wouldn’t do that!” Merry yelled, getting a cry of agreement from Pippin, and even Sam, who shook his head defiantly.

“I would like to think the same as well, young hobbits,” Aragorn said, holding his hands out placatingly, “But we cannot know Harry’s intentions, only that he was not captured, as there is no sign of a struggle.”

“He has gone on a mission for the Fellowship,” Legolas said quietly. “He would not abandon us; he is a warrior.”

“Legolas,” Gimli said with what he must have assumed was an understanding tone, “You can’t know where the lad’s run off to. Aragorn’s right, all we know is that he hasn’t been captured,” he finished gruffly. “Perhaps we should just keep going. If he says he’ll catch up with us, then we’ll let him do just that.”

“And if he’s in danger?” Legolas rounded on his friend. “He does not know these lands. It is likely he has gone off on some quest dictated by the Valar with little more knowledge than the destination in his mind’s eye.”

“What knowledge do you speak of?” Aragorn was the first to question after a long pause as all the Fellowship looked on in disbelief at the upset elf.

“It matters not.” Legolas shook his head. “A prophecy I had been unsure of. Alas! I should have had more faith in the Valar and the Fates assurance in Harry’s coming, which has long since been foretold,” he cried, burying his head in his hands, “But when we met, he seemed nothing more than a man, not even one of our Istar at that, and he was so young. Little more than twenty summers in him! It did not seem possible. There had to have been a mistake.” He shook his head before raising his eyes, which were suddenly burning fiercely bright with a determination that had not been there before. “But I was wrong. He is indeed strong, and he has a very important destiny he must fulfil. His fate is tied in with the fate of the Peoples of Middle Earth. We must help him!

“It is our duty, bound as one of the Fellowship. Though he did not start the journey with us in the hidden valleys of Imlardis, and has not seen all that we have seen, he has been bound to us in the same way as we are bound to each other, through brotherhood, friendship, trust, and a duty to help Frodo achieve his goal and put an end to Sauron’s reign. He is one of the Company, and as long as he follows a quest meant to fight against the Enemy, then we are honour-bound to follow him and help him as best we can.”

Legolas stood up and walked over to Harry’s silver stag that had not faded in the slightest since Legolas had been woken by its call that morning.

“But what of Frodo and the Ring,” Gimli asked. “Should we stray from our course and ask Frodo to bear the burden of the Ring that much longer?”

It was a testament to their new friendship that the two did not fall back into their bickering roles of racial rivalry. And Legolas understood that Gimli was speaking up for Frodo, who still remained so quiet, looking quite lost as he stared forlornly at the silver stag, whose grand head was as tall as the elf’s shoulder.

It was so frustrating. Legolas knew the promise he had made to Frodo, to help him with the burden he carried and see him through to the end. But he also knew the promise he had accepted when he acknowledged the prophecy that Harry was his partner, his equal. Legolas was the one chosen to watch over and help protect Harry while the wizard fulfilled his role as the Lone Warrior and defended all the Peoples of Middle Earth. It had been designed that even though the Lone Warrior would bear a great burden and responsibility, he would not be alone.

And these two roles, his obligation to Frodo as well as to Harry, should not be at odds. They had both been entrusted to fight the Enemy and protect Middle Earth in their own ways. Yet they were currently pulling him in two very different directions.

Legolas kept silent, not sure what else he could say, let alone if it was even his place anymore. If the Company decided to continue on, would he leave them to find Harry or should he trust in Harry’s skills? Though he was admittedly still woefully ignorant of who Harry was and all that he was capable of, did he trust him to return to Frodo and the group on his own?

“You are right, Gimli,” Aragorn said.

“I am sorry to put this burden upon you, Frodo, yet again, but it is indeed your decision to make. You hold the Ring, only you have the right to decide.”

As expected, all eyes turned to Frodo, who was looking determinedly at the ground, while his hand was clenched around something on his chest, though all present could guess that the object in question was obviously the current reason for this discussion.

“Frodo,” Pippin started, but Aragorn’s hand on the hobbit’s arm and a stern frown with a shake of his head silenced him for the moment.

The Company sat back and waited, only the hobbits fidgeting slightly under the strengthening pressure and strain that had pushed down on them as they kept their eyes on Frodo.

Finally, the silence stretched on for too long and Sam shifted in his seat and leant forward, bringing his head down near Frodo’s shoulder. He whispered, “Mr Frodo.”

Frodo didn’t move, but the line of his mouth became smaller as his frown tightened. With what looked to be quite a bit of effort, Frodo released the Ring with a blown-out sigh and looked up at Sam and then to the rest of the Fellowship.

“We shall stick together. We will not abandon Harry to his quest alone. If he’s gone to help fight the War, we shall aid him as best we can.” Frodo’s voice was solemn, but his eyes shone with a fiery determination that none expected from the reticent hobbit, who had been becoming even more aloof as of late.

The rest of the Company was silent for but a moment, staring at Frodo with varying degrees of shock and surprise, before Sam spoke up. Brows arched anxiously, he hesitantly said, “But Mr Frodo, our mission is to destroy the Ring; that’s the whole reason we’re out here, sleeping on the ground and eating naught but elvish bread and whatever we can find out in the wild. We're finally getting ready to enter Mordor and you want to go in the opposite direction?” he asked softly, as though trying to keep the conversation between just him and Frodo, though his voice was emphasised with unadulterated incredulity and disbelief.

Frodo looked, if possible, even more sombre. “Yes,” he said. “I know that the Ring is the most important thing, and the reason we have all come together, but...” he trailed off, eyes going past Sam’s shoulder and to the sparse woods beyond. “I just know that –,” he cut himself off and shook his head, “I have a strong feeling that Harry’s part in the Fellowship is just as important, and he will be needed to help destroy the Ring, so if he has headed off in a direction separate from our own, then we must follow him.”

Frodo’s eyes dropped down to the ground once more and his hands clenched on his knees. In a whisper barely heard by the hobbits closest to him, and those in the Company whose ears were the sharpest, Frodo said, “I understand the burden of the Ring is mine and mine alone, but this is something I know that needs to be done.”

Sam finally leant back, a frown of concern on his face, though he said no more. Merry and Pippin, on the other hand, just looked confused, but seemed happy enough to follow after Harry.

“Alright,” Aragorn nodded calmly, standing abruptly. “We shall follow his tracks. He must have gone on foot; all of the boats are accounted for and he could not have followed the river without such a craft.”

Legolas did not take notice of how Boromir’s frown deepened, or Gimli grumbled good naturedly about confusing elves suddenly worrying about odd wizards out of nowhere, nor how Frodo seemed even more determined and perhaps a bit more relieved than he had last night. All he could think about was how important it was to go after Harry.

And truthfully, he was rather relieved not to have had to make the choice between following Harry and following Frodo and the Fellowship. He didn’t know either of them all that well, admittedly, at least not as well as he would have liked. And he knew this was his own fault for the most part. All that truly connected Legolas to either of them was their mutual trust and shared honour in the promised camaraderie of the Fellowship itself. But Legolas’ main issue, of course, lay in how his initial perceptions of the two hadn’t changed much for the majority of his time knowing them. Although due to Legolas’ own stubborn blindness, he was too proud to admit it.

Frodo had seemed little more than a child to his eyes, the height and small stature not helping in the least. And only recently had Legolas truly begun to marry the notions of maturity and strength it took for one person to bear such a burden of evil for so long with the image of the young, taciturn hobbit who had just left the Shire for the first time in his life.

Harry, similarly, had appeared little more than a boy just entering adulthood, his obvious power notwithstanding. And the fact that the Company had met Harry just after having lost Gandalf, the only wizard any of them had trusted on Middle Earth, had not helped the young wizard’s welcome either. Though, now that he forced himself to think about it, Harry’s appearance so soon after Gandalf’s sacrifice did seem much too convenient to be a mere coincidence.

With a barely restrained sigh, Legolas tried to clear his head; he had never been more confused in his long immortal life, and he rather felt much of it could be attributed to the green eyed, black haired, reticent wizard who was responsible for this morning’s panic and madness.

As the Fellowship finally began packing up for the day, Legolas went to stand next to his new friend and let his mind return to the evening before, when Harry had accepted his hand. He had felt it then, the connection. The connection he had been sure could not possibly be there when Harry first had answered the words of the prophecy correctly. The connection that he first began to think might be possible when he’d seen Harry not only defy Lady Galadriel in a game of the minds but win against the Lady of Lothlórien. The connection he had suspected would come to light soon if Legolas would finally stop trying to avoid the issue, Harry, and the impossibilities of it all, and accept the fact that the Valar’s plans would not be known to him. But he had to trust in them all the same.

It was a connection through which he had felt such power and energy and promise of what was to come; and what was more, the seedlings of a friendship. That was more than Legolas had expected, and much more than he could have thought to hope for at the moment. He had started to feel optimistic, encouraged, excited even, for what he knew the future would hold.

But then, no more than a few hours later, Harry was called away. Was that mere coincidence or by design? Legolas could only feel the slightest bit of relief that he had at least established the beginnings of the bond before Harry left, but he still felt angry with himself for wasting so much time and mourning the loss of the friendship they could have begun. But perhaps that very connection was why Harry’s strange messenger animal had not left Legolas’ side since waking him. Legolas honestly wasn’t sure, but he felt strangely bolstered by the stag’s presence all the same.

His gaze then settled on the shining creature and found it looking back at him.

“I do not know if you maintain any connection with Harry, or if the ability to send messages goes only one way, but if it is reciprocal, please tell Harry that we wish him luck, that the Valar be with him, and that we are coming to help as soon as we can find his trail.”

The creature blinked but gave no other indication that it understood.

Legolas let loose a long, low sigh. He had been hoping for more, but it was foolish to expect the creature to answer on Legolas’ whim, nonetheless. Shaking off the disappointment and frustration of not being able to do anything at the moment, Legolas turned his attention to Aragorn, who was currently trying to trace Harry’s tracks. Only, he seemed to be currently frozen, his head bent deep in thought.

Legolas moved to his friend’s side. “What’s the matter?”

Aragorn didn’t look up, but responded, “There are no tracks.” He shook his head in disbelief, refusing to accept defeat to the impossible problem presented before him. “I see only those leading to and from Boromir’s cot, and then towards the river. But without a boat he could not have possibly travelled that way. Yet there are no tracks leading into the woods.”

Casting his eyes downward, Legolas joined his friend in thought. “Perhaps his magic was able to erase them,” he suggested with a tilt of his head.

Aragorn asked, “Could Gandalf do that?”

Shaking his head, Legolas replied, “I am not sure. But I think Gandalf’s magic is very different from Harry’s. We would do well not to compare the two or try to find reason from one to the other where no connection exists.”

Aragorn stroked his beard and his eyes scanned the surrounding area. “You are most likely right. We shall have to use what we know of Harry and the possible routes he would have taken to follow him. No talent of the elves or Dúnedain will help us here.”

Pausing for a moment, he added, “At least he took the map with him.” Aragorn sighed thoughtfully and then frowned. “Though, I don’t know how well he’ll be able to read it.” At Legolas’ look of confusion, Aragorn reminded him, “It’s all in Sindarin.”

. ... . ….. . … .

Harry sailed through the night, stopping only come morning, when he drudged up a happy memory to power his Patronus to send to the Company with the message that he had gone. He figured that would be the best way to get in contact with them and not have them waste any precious time looking for him.

He dictated the message to the apparition and then sent it on its way back in the direction he had just come. Instead of then getting back on the water, something he was dreading just a bit – Legolas had made steering a boat look so easy, as had Aragorn and Boromir, but it wasn’t – he sat down and pulled out a package of the Lembas bread for a late breakfast.

As he chewed on his first bite, he absently noticed a tug on his magic in the back of his mind, like a persistent spell, which, like all others, connected to his magical core and drained on his energy a bit. He considered casting a _Finite_ , thinking the _Confundus_ he had cast on Boromir might have lasted too long, but a moment later the pressure alleviated, and he went back to his breakfast, satisfied.

He waited until he was done eating to draw out the map, not wanting to get any crumbs on its fine surface.

Tracing his fingers along the swiftly moving lines that felt cool to the touch, Harry calculated where his current position could be by eye. He had been battling upstream for hours now and could no longer see the Anduin through the trees bordering his right, while on the left side of the river were brown and gold fields of grass. He figured he wouldn't really know for sure where he was until he reached the bend in the river, where the water should start to calm a bit. From the details on the map, the trees should soon start to thin out on the right side of the river too.

Harry slid his wand from his pocket and tapped it thoughtfully against the edge of his map, his eyes roving around the area labelled Fields of Celebrant, Downs, Brown Lands, and The Wold. He also looked over to the direction he was heading in, Fanghorn, or Entwood, which looked decidedly darker in colour than the bright gold and green of Lothlórien. It was black and brown in most places, and the trees were drawn in much less detail than the rest of the map. It was like the forest was a black mark on the world of Middle Earth, a diseased, rotting organ of the larger body; infected.

Harry wasn’t so sure anymore if that was the route he wanted to take. Surely there were other ways to get to Orthanc. He had located the tower’s image on his map, which matched that of his vision, even if the surrounding lands were much greener and alive on the map than they had been in his vision. It didn’t look like a good place to be going either.

Then again, looking at the flat, open area of The Wold that offered no cover whatsoever, he genuinely wondered which would be safer – an open area that provided nowhere to hide from the Enemy, or what sounded like a sick parody of the legendary cursed Black Forest in Germany.

Trying to find any other possible route that would not be so obviously dangerous, his wand tapped against his leg in an increasing tempo as he absently twiddled it between his fingers. It didn't look like there was any other way. He sighed, already anticipating his own capitulation of following the way laid out for him in his vision. One of the many downsides of being in a completely new land with no prior knowledge of the world.

Feeling unsettlingly restless, Harry’s foot soon joined in with his hand, jiggling to a beat of its own design. This wasn’t enough. If he was going to be risking himself in another mission for this faceless Valar, as he couldn’t imagine anyone else who could have sent him that odd vision – he was no Seer, after all – then he needed to be surer. He needed more to go on here than a couple pictures in his head and a map, even an exquisitely made one.

Maybe it was the reminder of creating his Patronus that made Harry think of his dad, Prongs, and the Marauders, but either way, Harry felt determined to add a bit of Marauder magic to this map and really make it his own. But the question currently plaguing his mind was, would it only respond to the elven magic from which it was created, or could Harry overlay his own as well? Of course, that was if Harry could even figure out what his dad, Sirius, and Remus had done all those years ago.

The wand tapping and foot jiggling continued in vigour. Harry’s brow furrowed as he remembered the first bit of magic the map had performed for him. Changing from Elvish script to English. That had to have been because it responded to Harry in some way. Had Aragorn seen the English, or Westron, or had it been in Elvish to his eyes?

The tapping increased in tempo and intensity.

Perhaps if he…

Harry lifted his wand and brought it up to tap on the general area of what he suspected was his current location.

“ _Homenum Revelio_ ,” he said firmly and clearly, hoping against hope that it really would be that simple.

Nothing happened. Of course.

Hmm. Perhaps...

“ _Cunctum Revelio_ ,” he intoned, using the spell that revealed all life forms, or so it should.

Holding his breath, he watched with wide eyes, as the drawn markings of different terrain around his wand immediately shifted ever so slightly, like a tiny underground tremor spreading outwards. And then, only a few inches from where his wand tip was pressed, tiny script started writing across the page by an unseen hand and the name ‘Harry Potter’ was revealed moments later.

Tracking the magic’s progress, Harry smiled as the names of the rest of the Company were spelt out several miles southeast of his own. Further north, close enough to the Company, though not close enough to really cause worry, Harry saw the name ‘Gollum’ appear on the other side of the Anduin. Then south, in The Wold, whole groups of people swarmed together, names overlapping disjointedly.

Harry took a moment to scan his eyes across the entire map and noticed that the magic only seemed to cover little more than 200 miles out in each direction from his current position. Lothlórien was covered in a hazy mist up to Mirrormere, where Harry had met the Fellowship, shielding its people with a different kind of magic that Harry doubted he would be able to crack. Then to the south, in the middle of the land of Rohan, as well as to the west, just outside the edges of where Fanghorn met the Misty Mountains, the magic ended in a squiggly outline that Harry had to squint a bit to see. The Forest was also covered in an odd mist, but Harry wasn’t quite sure what to make of that. To the east, the spell stopped working just into the boarders of the Brown Lands. How curious.

Not too disappointed about the limitations of the map, or perhaps it was the limitations of the spell, Harry looked back to the south. Nearby, beneath that region, there were large, ominous looking blotches moving like spilt ink across the land, which were labelled simply – Uruk-hai. It didn’t take a huge leap of intuition to guess that they were the enemy.

The troubling thing was that they were moving at a fast pace, cutting across the lands of Rohan and heading towards the Anduin. If he were to make a guess, calculating distance and time roughly by eye, he would say that if the Fellowship continued on their intended path, the two groups would meet at around the point Aragorn had them leaving the water to trek across land into Mordor’s boarders. It would be close, but if the Fellowship were fast enough, they might make it to the other side of the Anduin before the band of Uruk-hai reached them.

_Might_.

And just like that, the excited high Harry had experienced upon getting his map to work for him suddenly vanished.

Harry worried his bottom lip between his teeth as his eyes switched from the Uruk-hai to the Company, who he was now even more anxious to see had not left camp since this morning. Surely Aragorn would have gotten everyone up and in the boats by now? Harry’s leaving couldn’t have caused all that much of a problem; a plan was already in place, Harry had said he would catch up with them later, and it wasn’t like they could do anything about it anyway.

No one knew where Harry had gone, he’d been purposefully vague about his location. Not to mention that even if they did try to look for him, they would never suspect to find him on the water as he’d not taken any of the elven boats. And though they were all familiar enough with magic thanks to Gandalf, they were not familiar with Harry’s brand of magic. And therein lay the key to Harry’s successful getaway.

Now all they had to do was move on and be faster than the band of Uruk-hai coming their way.

If only they would actually move!

The tapping of Harry’s foot resumed tempo as he contemplated the current problem. Should he warn them with another Patronus? Would they believe him? How would he know about something like that, considering he didn’t want to tell anyone about the secrets of the map? And even in a private message like the Patronus, he didn’t want to be blabbing that kind of important information when he didn’t know who would be present to hear it.

Harry groaned in frustration, slapping his palm to his forehead as his head fell forward. He needed to warn them, one way or another. Their lives and the mission to destroy the Ring were too important for personal secrets, Harry reminded himself. Releasing an explosive sigh, Harry raised his head and looked back on the map, only to jerk his head back in surprise a moment later.

The Company had started moving finally. But not back towards the Anduin.

They were heading southwest, on foot, into the Wold.

“What in Merlin’s name are they doing?” Harry muttered to himself, his eyes narrowing in suspicion and confusion. The map couldn’t possibly be wrong already, could it? His eyes darted back to his own dot. It still read ‘Harry Potter’, which had not moved from its spot, just like Harry hadn’t moved for the past hour or so.

No, it couldn’t be that. Harry shook his head. They couldn't have decided to try and follow him, could they? That would be stupid and so, so...Gryffindorish! They were walking into exposed land with the Ring and a band full of misfits; two men, a dwarf, four hobbits, and an elf; they would stick out like a sore thumb.

For the second time that day, Harry slapped his forehead and let loose a groan.

He could send another Patronus and tell them to stop trying to follow him, but he doubted it would do any good without letting them know where he was, something that he would not and could not do. He may not be happy about it, but he had set out on his mission already and he wasn't backing down now. And at least they were no longer in the path of the Uruk-hai. Though that was saying nothing for the other enemies out there, or the chance of the Uruk-hai changing course at some point.

With no other choices presenting themselves, Harry closed his eyes, sighing in defeat, and then stood up to begin packing his things back in his bag. Rolling the map back up carefully, he slid it into its leather casing and tucked it away in his bag. He needed to be off and start putting distance between himself and the Fellowship once more. He still had about 100 miles on this river before he came to Fangorn. From there he hoped the mist would begin to lift once he’d crossed its borders, because as far as he could see, going into Fangorn was the most dangerous part of this journey so far, as it was a complete unknown to him.

But like with everything else, Gryffindors charge ahead. And so Harry got back onto his raft and continued up river. With any luck, he would reach Fangorn in three days’ time. Beyond there, he planned to rely solely on good fortune to see him through that forest in one piece. Well, that, and some good old-fashioned Potter courage couldn’t hurt either. 


	14. The Lone Warrior of the Aratar: A Prophecy Revealed

It was much easier following a direct route to Isengard now that Harry was able to track his own progress on the map and see what obstacles and people were in the surrounding area, allowing him to avoid those he wished. Not that there were many, really, but just being able to check his path ahead certainly had its benefits and made Harry feel a bit safer – if only a bit.

Though it was not a fool proof system, as he found when his raft had gotten stuck along a tree trunk blocking most of the ford; or when a small rodent snuck past his basic alerting spell and got into his bag, and consequently his food, in the middle of the night; or when a huge rock in the middle of the river tore into his raft before he managed to turn away, taking a chunk out of his craft, delaying him longer still. But that was just part and parcel of travelling in the wild alone, now that he’d broken from the Fellowship. There was no one to watch his back, take shifts for night duty, or add another set of hands to help steer him from danger.

All the same, Harry thought he was getting along well enough on his own. And the map wasn’t completely without additional uses beyond those he’d already discovered. In fact, he’d revealed another couple of useful tricks while fiddling with it each night, out of boredom from having absolutely nothing else to do. One of which was that it could locate all the larger magical beasts and birds in the surrounding area in addition to peoples. It did not mark those working for the Dark Lord, but Harry thought it the best policy to just stay away from all of them if he could.

So besides a few mishaps common to trekking in the wild alone, Harry was eventually able to fight against the current and make it to the bend in the Limlight, from which he was able to then make good time down to the borders of Fangorn. All too soon, in fact, or so he thought once he finally caught his first sight of the forest in the distance.

Even from miles away, Fangorn was an overshadowing darkness that seemed to loom up at him the closer Harry got. In fact, the distance between was growing alarmingly smaller by the second, and despite every instinct telling him to turn around and go back, before he knew it Harry was passing by the first line of trees. Ancient, drooping, and draped with thick curtains of moss that looked like worn capes engulfing stooped, old men, the trees of Fangorn seemed as foreboding and perilous as the trees of Lothlórien had been beautiful, inspiring, and pristine. It was an eerily scary difference and Harry decided he much preferred the trees of Lothlórien. Why couldn’t his mission take him back there?

Once he was fully ensconced in the dark shelter of the trees, Harry went to shore and stepped out onto the soft loam of the forest floor. The moment he had completely extracted himself from the raft, his whole body tensed up and he could feel the small hairs on the back of his neck rising with a prickling sensation on his skin. It was like the very air he breathed had set off all kinds of instinctual alarms in his head. Swallowing hard, he pulled the raft ashore and hid it beneath some bushes, knowing it would vanish within a few days or so anyway.

Harry pulled his elvish cloak tighter around his shoulders, trying to fight off the sudden chill from the goose bumps that raked his arms, though there was not even the smallest breath of wind. In fact, the atmosphere seemed unnaturally still, like everything outside the river waters was frozen in time. Only, instead of preserving the forest like some kind of fairy tale, everything green just seemed to have stopped growing and begun to rot until the entire forest reeked of death and decay. The trees loomed high above him and seemed to be closing in on him with every step he took. And it was so very dark. He couldn’t see farther than ten feet in front of him, beyond which his vision perceived only indistinguishable shadows.

It was coming on night and the trees blocked out even the moonlight, so Harry pulled out his wand and lit a _Lumos_ spell from its tip. It bathed the surrounding trees in an eldritch glow, giving the shadows more malign-looking forms and the trees long, exaggerated faces and stretching, twisting parodies of limbs.

Once more swallowing down every instinct that told him to turn around and run, Harry called upon his Gryffindor courage, squared his shoulders and kept walking forward, already dreading the countless sleepless nights that no doubt lay ahead of him.

. ….. … … …… .. …… . …. . 

  
That very same night, the Fellowship was gathered round in a small circle, speaking in hushed voices as darkness spread across the skies and the lands.

They had made their way through the Downs and were now into The Wold. Stark, barren lands stretched out as far as the eye could see. It certainly allowed one to see any enemy miles and miles out, but unfortunately that was a double-edged sword as it provided absolutely no cover to hide from others either. But Aragorn did not seem too worried, or at least not outwardly, while Legolas seemed to be growing more restless by the day, though he would not share what troubled him so.

But he was not alone in feeling that growing uneasiness. The worried thoughts that most of the Company had been able to ignore throughout the day whilst concentrating on hiking across the dry, flat grasslands of the Wold, came back to sit heavy on their shoulders once more as they finally stopped to rest. None voiced their thoughts, however, all seeming reluctant to speak up amidst the tension that was steadily growing among the group. All but one, that is.

“Why do you keep defending him, Mr Frodo?” Sam finally asked as he ladled some cold stew into Frodo’s bowl. And even with his voice soft and low, all in the Company heard and stopped what they were doing to surreptitiously lean in and listen.

“Mr Harry, I mean,” Sam continued, seemingly ignorant of the present audience. “I know he’s a likable enough fellow, but we haven’t really known him all that long, and you seem to have connected with him better than any of us here.” His shoulders slumped a little as he said this, but a moment later it was gone as he soldiered on, “Just wondering why that is, I suppose.” Sam said with a frown and a shrug that was more fidgety than the careless nonchalance he was no doubt hoping to convey. Relinquishing the simple bowl to his friend, he peered worriedly at Frodo, who had been eating so little lately and was sleeping even less. It was nightfall and the Fellowship had made camp beside what best passed for a hill in these regions, but they lit no fires just to be safe. Sam, at least, had learnt his lesson at Weathertop. A mistake he was not likely to ever repeat.

Frodo kept his eyes downcast, staring myopically into his bowl for several moments without touching it in the wake of Sam’s question. Sam wondered if he’d heard or not, or whether his friend was just ignoring the question altogether, when finally, Frodo raised his head and looked at a point beyond Sam’s shoulder.

In barely a whisper, Frodo began with, “We are both orphans.”

He had the attention of the entire Fellowship, who all leant in further to listen to Frodo’s answer.

“He told me in Lórien that his parents died when he was a baby, and he was left at the doorstep of his relatives. But they did not treat him well, not like Bilbo cared for me. But even so, I think we can understand each other better in some ways because of that.”

Sam slowly nodded understandingly, though the frown creasing his face indicated that he suspected there was more to it.

“That’s all?” Legolas asked softly from his spot sitting on the other side of the group. “That is sad, to have grown up without any parents; I did not know that about Harry. But surely that cannot be the only reason for your loyalty to him.”

“It’s not. Not entirely,” Frodo shook his head distractedly in answer, “but the rest is hard to explain.”

“Try,” Merry urged, scooting closer to Frodo in his seat.

Breathing out a sigh of defeat, Frodo lifted his gaze to the sky, avoiding the avid, curious stares directed at him.

“He knows pain,” Frodo said, his left shoulder jerking reflexively as he spoke. “When he told me his story in the city of Calas Galadhon, I discovered what it was that connected us, what must have drawn him here, by whatever power you wish to believe is at fault.

“He has carried a burden very similar to mine, though different in many ways.” As he spoke, his hand automatically went to rest on his chest, where under his shirt of mithril, his jacket, and his elven cloak, the cursed ring rested against his skin, warm and cold at the same time. “He has been touched by a great evil and defeated it, overcoming it against all odds.” Frodo forcibly released a breath that sounded oddly painful to all present. “I have to believe that if he can overcome such a great obstacle then I will be able to as well. And,” Frodo’s voice dropped down to a whisper once more, “he promised to help me fight the Ring. He would not go back on his promise, so I know he must have had no choice in leaving.”

Legolas’ lips thinned in a grimace. He nodded and said, “Thank you, Frodo, for sharing with us these thoughts that lay so heavily upon your heart. I agree with you that Harry had no choice in breaking from the group, which is why we cannot abandon him to face his foes alone.” Legolas did not wait to garner support from the rest of the Fellowship in response to his speech, as he instead turned his head to gaze back upon the silvery stag that had not yet left his side since first appearing to Legolas several days ago.

“I wish you could at least tell us whether Harry is alright or not,” Legolas said softly, reaching out to stroke a hand along the side of the creature’s neck, which felt like solid air to the touch, and gave him a feeling of hope and happiness, as well as the odd sensation that Harry was close by somehow. It was as though only his eyes were blind to see what his heart could feel in the simple touch, yet his mind still struggled to understand what it all meant or why Harry continued to confound him so from leagues and leagues away.

“That would certainly put my mind at more ease, if only a little.” The Patronus did not respond, though, and just leant its head into Legolas’ touch, just like the reaction of any true beast, belying its real form to any onlookers. “I cannot ignore the feeling in my heart that tells me we are but lengthening the distance between us, rather than closing it and speeding assuredly to Harry’s side.”

Aragorn came up to Legolas and dropped a hand on his shoulder. “I am sorry, Legolas. There are no tracks after which we can follow, as impossible as that may be, and I cannot see him taking any other way. If we are meant to be reunited, we shall find him, I promise.”

Legolas nodded, not removing his hand from the stag’s neck as he did so, looking over at Aragorn with resigned agreement.

“I shall take first watch,” Legolas offered.

“And I will relieve you,” Aragorn replied with an apologetic grimace, before making his way over to his bedroll to get some rest for the next few hours. “We shall enter the lands of Rohan tomorrow,” he said over his shoulder, head tilted in Legolas’ direction. “At the least we will be in friendly territory, even if the need to keep our eyes open and our senses alert does not diminish.”

Legolas hummed to himself as Aragorn prepared his bedroll and settled down, with his back to Legolas. “I fear we have many trials ahead of us yet before we are to reunite the Fellowship once more,” he said quietly into the night. “Our path ahead is drenched in darkness that I dread cannot be avoided,” he added as he watched the rest of the Company get ready for sleep.

So far Legolas had not allowed himself to worry about what the Company would think of his sudden change of opinion regarding Harry. But now that he had time to cool down from his anger at Boromir and the Company’s initial reluctance to follow after the young wizard, as well as collect his thoughts, Legolas knew he was lucky that it was only Frodo the Fellowship were currently questioning. Though he had a feeling that the group was still just as suspicious of Legolas’ change of heart; they were just even more reluctant to confront him on it.

Legolas had gone from all but ignoring Harry to worrying frantically after his well-being, as though Harry held the same significance in his life as Aragorn, or even Gimli. But the fact remained that Legolas had remained fairly aloof to the wizard since meeting him, and everyone in the Company saw it as well.

Legolas had a feeling that he would have to share at least some of the contents of the prophecy with the rest of the Fellowship soon, or they would certainly start voicing their distrust of Legolas’ motives for defending Harry and his insistence that the Company follow the wayward wizard. Honestly, even with the prophecy it sounded far-fetched, for though he had more faith in Harry now and believed that the Valar must know what they were doing, the idea of Harry becoming the legendary Lone Warrior still seemed mighty unlikely in many respects.

Besides Harry’s particular role in fulfilling the prophecy, Legolas certainly never thought that he would remain on Middle Earth long enough to see the coming of the Lone Warrior, let alone be appointed as his Companion and protector. In fact, when he had heard the prophecy as a child, learning the ways of his People and the Court, as well as of his duties as one of only two sons of the King of Mirkwood, he had half believed it to be no more than old folklore. Folklore that had been spun out of any realistic understanding to the point where it no longer seemed applicable to the world they lived in, or even possible.

But he had obviously been proven wrong with Harry’s coming.

Harry. The Lone Warrior of the Aratar. Come at last.

Legolas closed his eyes as he let his mind recite the well-versed words once more.

_After the Ancient Powers have awakened once more_   
_Discord and shadow streak across the kingdoms of Arda;_   
_Enemies gather and allies unite_   
_From the depths of a distant land,_   
_A powerful being comes to stay_   
_He who by his power will help pave the way to peace_   
_And into peace shall he set his roots_   
_With the Companion at his side,_   
_Who will see him first before all others:_   
_The Lone warrior of the Aratar come at last_

Like most prophecies, it was not clear what all the details meant until after it had been fulfilled. In this case, it had only been partially fulfilled. It was now clear at least that the Ancient Power was Sauron and the Ring, and the friends united must refer to the Fellowship. But the words that described Harry still remained mostly a mystery. If it had not been for Harry being able to recite the words of identification to the prophecy so quickly, though it had been an elven-guarded secret for years, Legolas would still doubt whether Harry was meant to fulfil the legendary role.

But peace was promised with his coming, a peace he would keep by setting his roots down deep into Middle Earth. Such an action had been assumed by scholars as having to do with the prophesied Companion who would stay at his side: Legolas, the one who had identified Harry first.

It was expected that the Companion would be one of the elves; perhaps it was part of the reason the elves guarded their secrets so fastidiously. But it had been quite a shock to Legolas to become the one spoken of in an ancient prophecy overnight.

Studying prophecies was hard enough, actually being part of one was another challenge entirely, and Legolas had spent many nights since wondering if the Valar had even chosen right with him. Surely there were better, more capable, older, and wiser elves than him. Probably just as there had been better, more capable, older, and wiser elves who would have aided the Fellowship more. But it was Legolas who had been chosen, first as a messenger for his father, and then by Lord Elrond to serve as the Company’s archer and help protect the little ones from danger as best he could. He had accepted without reservation, recognising it as a high honour to be granted a place among the Fellowship. Yet when presented with another such great privilege and position of esteem and distinction, he had shied away.

This was not something he had learned to deal with when learning about proper court behaviour from his father, or archery from the Master Archer, or proper comportment and studies from his tutors. It had been nothing he had ever prepared for, let alone expected, and it had certainly thrown him for a loop.

Yet even as he thought that, he felt shame. Shame for the way he had treated Harry from the very first moment, knowing that Harry would have no clue of any such prophecies about himself. That he would not understand Legolas’ reserve and uncertainty towards him. That Legolas no doubt should have taken up his mantle as Companion from the beginning and done all that was in his power to get to know Harry, welcome him to Middle Earth, make him feel comfortable, and protect him as best he could so that Harry would come to trust him.

Legolas felt the culpability like when he was receiving a reprimand from his father as a young elfling for not showing proper decorum and acting as a prince of Mirkwood should. Only it was somehow much worse when there was no one to admonish him, and only his guilt and mulling over Harry’s absence as his ‘punishment’. He would have much preferred the simplicity of a punishment from his childhood, such as a meal being taken away, or being banned from going to archery practice for a week. But these actual consequences were so much more real and lasting, and Legolas felt at such a loss for what to do.

He knew that he had a lot to apologise for, hopefully sometime soon, if he was to get into Harry’s good graces and fulfil that second part of the prophecy. At the moment, the hand of friendship was all that had been offered before Harry had whisked away to undertake yet another mission from the Valar. Would he even remember Legolas’ gesture and attempts to form a bond by the time they met once more? And who even knew when that would be, as Legolas felt his heart grow heavier and heavier with each passing day. He felt like they were moving ever farther away from Harry rather than closing the distance between them.

If Legolas were to accept prophecy and fate completely, he would say that the Company was not meant to help Harry in this task. But as the Companion, said to act as the protector to the protector, guarding and caring for the Lone Warrior above all else, Legolas felt it was his duty to follow Harry regardless, and he would not turn from his intended course. And that was to follow through in his commitment to do all in his power to keep Harry safe and to defend him to the best of Legolas’ abilities. But all such skills were completely useless if Harry was far away from him, running into danger of his own accord, so far from Legolas’ side.

Legolas massaged his temples and released a sigh as he once again realised the difficult predicament before him. Forcibly turning his mind away from his current troubles, Legolas scanned his surroundings with more intent this time, not with the absent-minded awareness he had given his environment moments before.

The night, so far, had been quiet and without incidence, apart from his shuffling thoughts, and for that he was grateful. As Legolas went to sit down a short distance away from the sleeping Company, he set his gaze out on the endless plains ahead, perceiving much more than his companions could. It was not a mesh of indistinct shapes in the dark to him; but rather, he saw with all the sharpness and clarity of day, just overlaid with shadows and cast in a darker hue than the beautiful colours the sun provided. And starlight, he thought, could be just as awe-inspiring as sunlight, if you knew how to truly appreciate it.

Still, as he looked, Legolas observed that much of what he once saw as beautiful, now seemed to have lost its lustre in the wake of his own tangled thoughts, which were as barbed and deadly as a pricker bush. All the same, Legolas was somewhat content for the moment to note that nothing stirred out there and it seemed for the moment that they were safe. Silently, he prayed to the Valar for Harry’s safety that night, wherever he was, and that Legolas was not leading the Fellowship into further peril by urging the Company to follow in the wizard’s path.

But mostly, he prayed for Harry’s safety, even as the guilt of feeling like he was betraying the Fellowship sank deeper, heavier, and sharper into his mind. Even if he was getting no sleep for yet another night in a row, at least the Company, and hopefully Harry as well, were not so burdened with the same trouble. He could only hope.

  
. … …. . …. . …. .. …. … .

As luck would have it, Harry was not getting any sleep that night either, continuing his pattern of the past several nights, ever since he’d stepped foot in this dark forest. He’d never tried spending a whole night in the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts, let alone sleep there, and now he knew why. One couldn’t get a wink of rest! He found himself almost wishing for Grawp, thinking even a small giant who liked him might make him feel a bit safer; an enemy you knew versus a whole forest of ones you didn’t, and all that.

He was currently trying to rest with his back against a particularly broad tree, hoping he would be able to see any danger coming towards him and not be snuck up upon from this vantage. Warding spells surrounded him, just in case he actually managed to catch a few winks and needed to be alerted to any danger that came within his reach. Though actual sleep was rather unlikely, it never hurt to be optimistic. Now more than ever was he regretting his decision to leave the Company without bringing at least one of them along for the ride; they could have alternated watch and got some peace in this god forsaken forest.

It had been three days since he’d first entered the Fangorn. The dark, creepy, old, cursed forest that gave him endless shivers and constant feelings of dread and despair, not to mention everlasting goose bumps up his arms and down his back. It was like having Slytherin’s Locket around his neck once more, or being surrounded by a horde of Dementors, as the curse was in the very air he breathed, and he felt its ominous whispers and threats with every step he took. How he longed to be able to travel silently like the elves or hobbits, or even like Aragorn, one of the Rangers, but he was not blessed with any of their skills, and so was left with an ever present fear that he would be attacked with every noise he made.

Even lying still, wrapped tightly in his cloak, surrounded by wards and spells of protection, his fear did not diminish. He had known what it was like to live in fear most of his life, of course. First from the rebuke of the Dursleys for being the freak child forced upon them, and later from the constant threat of having been marked by Voldemort as his mortal enemy and prophesied to ultimately be a murderer or martyr. So no, fear was not new to him. And he would not let himself show it, but he found himself longing for the company of the Fellowship once more, even just one of them, to see a familiar face as he continued to trek deeper and deeper into dark and unfamiliar lands.

Just being in a forest, especially one so old and dangerous, reminded him of the time that he had lost all hope and despaired his own fate. Neither Ron, nor Hermione, or even Ginny – and how long had it been since he’d even really thought of her – had been by his side when he had surrendered to his destiny, walked into the clearing of Death Eaters in the Forbidden Forest, and chosen death by Voldemort’s hand.

And here he was, once again blindly following a higher calling that was leading him by the nose without his consent, into a dark forest once more. As though there was not enough irony already in his short life.

But enough of those even further depressing thoughts. More often than not, when he was not questioning whether this quest would lead to his death and whether or not he would have another get-out-of-jail free card, he found that his thoughts tended to turn to Legolas, completely of their own accord. Usually when he was secretly wishing for some sort of companionship in this hair-raising hell. Harry did not know why his mind tended to supply Legolas as that answer more frequently than others. He turned the matter over methodically, examining it from every angle, to no avail.

Perhaps Legolas continued to snag his attention even without being present due to the fact that it was with Legolas that he had held his last meaningful conversation. Or it was through Legolas that he had recently received acceptance into the group. Yet even during the nights when he would manage to sleep for an hour or so, he would have visions of the elf. Not like his ones from the Valar, but ones that seemed powered by his own magic. Somehow, he was able to watch Legolas from the eyes of another, perhaps an animal, based on the chest height from which he viewed the elf. Honestly, it did not make sense to him, and he usually forgot most of the dream by the time he awoke again and was inwardly grouching about yet another horrible night’s sleep.

At the same time, he acknowledged that the visions, simple and fleeting though they were, calmed him somehow. They gave him hope and bolstered his spirits, even just a little. And in those few moments upon waking, before both exhaustion and sleeplessness set in once more, he felt glad and comforted by the fact that the Fellowship had chosen to follow him. Even though they were heading in the wrong direction from both Mt Doom and Harry– never believing he would do something as foolhardy as trek through Fangorn on his own - it still warmed his heart some to know they were looking for him.

But then he would come to his senses, remember the peril he was putting them in, the folly of them moving away from Mordor and the destination of the mission, and he would reprimand himself for even thinking such things. Such thoughts did no good anyway. The Fellowship would not find him and he would have to face this new adversary alone anyway. He just hoped he would be able to defeat Saruman quickly and return to the Fellowship as soon as possible to get them all back on course before it was too late.

Harry’s thoughts started going in circles again, delving once more into the problems that plagued his mind, oscillating between Frodo and Legolas, and then to his lack of plan for facing Saruman when the time came. That was if he even got that far before the forest brought him to an early death.

Suddenly, his eyes snapped open and instantly darted around, certain he had heard… something. He squinted in the dark, trying to discern shapes and movements in the night. As he did so, he remembered why he usually tried his best to keep his eyes shut at night. All the shadows around him seemed to grow and move with a life of their own as he stared, like the trees were alive and reaching out for him.

Harry held his breath and shrunk in upon himself, trying to become as small as possible, while simultaneously tightening his hold on his wand and raising it to eye level, prepared and ready for battle. He loosened the cloak around his shoulders and tried to force his leg muscles to cooperate and stand up. Maybe whatever was making the noise would go away, none the wiser to Harry’s presence.

He could only hope.

“Hrum, hrum, hroom,” a deep, crackling voice that sounded like a combination of flames popping and the tuning of strings in an orchestra at once, burst out into the night at the same time a tall, walking, talking tree came into view only a few feet from Harry. “What do we have here?”

Apparently, the trees _were_ alive! 


	15. Treebeard

Harry’s head hit the back of the tree trunk he had been leaning against as he attempted to stumble back, trying to put as much distance between himself and that talking, walking tree as possible. He knew he had been wishing for Grawp before, but he hadn’t been _serious_ about wanting a giant to come keep him company!

His mind shut down temporarily and his body moved on pure instinct and muscle memory. Harry immediately scrambled to stand up, his back scraping against the bark of the tree and his feet slipping on dead leaves. He stuck his wand out in front of him with a jerk of his arm and made sure to keep his eyes on the monster that was advancing toward him. Long, thick, sinewy arms that seemed to bulge from the side of its body; tall, sturdy legs bent at an odd angle; and an oddly shaped trunk of a body were steadily pressing forward.

Harry wondered if he wished loud enough, would the sword of Gryffindor appear before him in a flash of phoenix flames? What better way to combat a walking, talking tree than with a blade and some fire?

Unfortunately, no such miracles came to him, and the tree-thing was only getting closer.

“Hoom, hm, hm,” the tree spoke again, sounding to Harry like it was coming from the hollow of a deep wood-instrument, coupled with the low growl of a primal beast. “There’s no use running, lad,” it intoned in a deep, thundering voice, “nothing escapes me in these woods.”

But Harry didn’t listen. Acquiring better control of his legs, he continued to move quickly around the tree, feeling with one hand behind him as he beat a hasty retreat. All the while, he kept the advancing tree, which was taking alarmingly long, striding steps with an apparent effortlessness, directly in his sights.

“Who are you,” Harry asked, his voice stronger and sounding more defiant than he was actually feeling at the moment. His wand hand was also surprisingly steady as he continued to point it threateningly in front of him at the creature – because calling it a tree seemed so very wrong. Though Harry wasn’t trying to look too hard, he could tell that the thing was not entirely made of bark, wood, and leaves, but that its skin had a bit of a leathery look, appearing softer around the face. _This_ was the thing he had seen in Galadriel’s mirror!

“Me?” the thing drawled out in its gravelly voice that seemed to add and mix several more syllables to the word than was normal, or even seemingly possible. “You do not ask me who _I_ am, lad. You are in _my_ lands,” the creature boomed, even as it spoke with a slow deliberateness that mentally underlined every word to Harry’s ears. “ _I_ ask _you_ who _you_ are.” The nameless creature crossed the short distance between them swiftly with ease.

Then, just as Harry got the notion that perhaps he could turn around and outrun the thing, he took a step back and tripped over a root in the ground that seemed to have risen up and purposefully snagged his ankle, bringing him crashing down to the forest floor abruptly in a tangle of limbs and odd angles.

Before Harry could even begin to think straight again and attempt to right himself off the ground, the tree root continued moving and made to tighten its hold on Harry’s ankle.

Rearing up like a snake set to strike, another thick vine extended from the same tree to wrap around Harry’s waist and legs, and started dragging him down into the earth beneath the arcs of the other roots, which began to sink deeper into the earth in turn, squeezing Harry tighter beneath them. It was like being strangled by Devil’s Snare, only slower and with thicker branches that tore into your skin as much as they squeezed the breath out of you.

Harry struggled valiantly for several seconds, wondering if his darkening vision was from the blackness of night or his air supply being cut off. Not since being locked in the Lestrange’s vault had he felt this kind of panic. Just like then, all the world seemed to be closing in on him with no escape in sight.

And then, just as one of the roots began to creep up around his head and down to his neck, a flash of starlight entered the side of his vision, and Harry blinked as he remembered the wand still clutched tightly in his hand. _Was he a wizard, or wasn’t he?_

Slashing downwards with what little wrist motion still afforded him, he yelled a _Diffindo_ , which did the job of cutting deep, red, angry gouges in the roots wrapping themselves around his waist. But instead of releasing him and shrinking back like he expected, the plant life seemed to redouble its effort and start pulling him down faster, twisting around his chest, arms, legs, and up to his neck with even more vengeance, burying him alive. Gasping for breath, Harry cast the last jinx he could think of that might work.

“ _Relashio_ ,” he panted, pushing the magic out with his hands as much as every part of his body currently being crushed by the semi-sentient tree. His entire body strained with the effort, and the seconds that Harry kept pushing out magic seemed to stretch on into an eternity.

But then, with a great groan of a sigh, the tree released its hold on Harry and slowly shrank back in itself, like a snail retreating into its shell, allowing Harry the chance to roll away to safety, out of the tree’s reach. Pushing down on the ground with his hands and knees, he bent his head and looked upon the dead leaves beneath his gaze with glazed eyes, all the while panting heavily, with his body shaking violently due to the adrenaline still pumping through his system. He barely had a moment to recollect his thoughts before he felt a large, rough, and slightly prickly hand pushing him in the side and rolling him onto his back.

Harry sucked in a quick, shallow breath as the walking, talking, tree-like creature from before bared down on him until its jagged nose, stretched cheek bones, crooked mouth, and mossy beard were inches from Harry’s own face. Talk about out of the pot and into the frying pan!

The creature peered into his eyes with a mixture of curiosity, awe, and suspicion, and all else seemed to just freeze.

Harry shifted his grip on his wand, already in fight mode, and opened his mouth to dispel the first effective spell in his repertoire that would blast this creature across the glade and well away from him. But something seemed to be holding him back from vocalizing anything.

It wasn’t the odd pressure of having a talking tree creature leaning over you and breathing stale, mossy breath into your face that smelled like rotting wood. And it wasn’t fear either, Harry reflected as he did his best to hold his breath, which was a little difficult when he’d still been trying to catch it just moments before. He returned the creature’s stare openly with a squared jaw and a steady gaze. Though, he would admit to himself at least, that fear was not completely absent from his mind either. He knew he was usually good in tight situations; the fight with Quirrell over the stone, the basilisk in the Chamber, the horde of Dementors bearing down on him and Sirius, and a few good rounds with Tom Riddle before Harry ensured his final demise, just to name a few. Only, this time, there was no help coming for him in this foreign world, and Harry knew he would have only his own power to rely on.

Yet it was not that realisation that stayed his hand either, but something else entirely that prevented any words from making their way out of his throat and directing an effective spell at the creature, which had efficiently flattened him to the grounds. It wasn’t exactly a calming thought to be trapped, but for some reason, neither did he feel himself panicking too much; at least not to the same degree as when he’d been almost strangled to death moments before. A part of him knew that he was still somewhat in control of this situation, even if it didn’t exactly appear so.

The tree-thing that wouldn’t identify itself narrowed its eyes and glared at him from beneath its long, bushy eyebrows that seemed to be made of the same brown and green moss that was hanging from his chin in the form of an unkempt beard, the scraggly ends of which were currently brushing across Harry’s chest and face annoyingly. Harry held himself stiff and stopped breathing altogether, even as his chest shuddered with the effort. This close to the creature for the first time, Harry saw that the thing’s skin was indeed leathery and not very bark-like at all, except for its mottled, deep brown and green colour, which was indented with rough grooves and furrows, highlighted by the scant starlight above. Harry watched as a small beetle scurried up the side of the creature’s cheek and disappeared into its twiggy hairline, matted with thin, twisting vines, crumpled leaves, and short shoots of dead wood.

The creature paused and then bowed its head to sniff decisively at Harry’s face and into his collar, as though checking if Harry had been smoking or had alcohol on his breath. Harry braced himself, wondering what to expect next and when would be the most opportune moment to retaliate. What he didn’t expect was for the creature’s face to suddenly open in an expression of shock and surprise. And then without any warning, it jumped back off Harry with a swift nimbleness Harry hadn’t thought a creature of wood to be capable of.

Harry had a moment to stand, but nothing more before the creature moved back towards him and reached down, scooping Harry up in its hand, and bringing him to eye level, which was a good six feet off the ground for Harry.

“What are you?” It asked in a confused rumble, the rancour released from its inflection, but suspicion still tainting its tone.

Harry thought that was rather grand coming from a talking tree-thing, but he held his tongue from forming the more sarcastic thoughts into words. He just shook his head with a look he normally would save for people he thought were a bit touched in the head. There was no fear on his face. He wouldn’t give this creature the satisfaction, seeing as it was already playing around with him as though he were no more than a toy.

The creature’s eyes narrowed, and it pushed its nose close to Harry’s chest and sniffed again.

“You have the smell of one of the Eldar, but,” it trailed off and cleared its throat once more sounding like an orchestra of wood instruments tuning and echoing in a hollow chamber, with a background noise of leaves crackling and twigs snapping. The creature squeezed Harry a bit tighter in its grip as it paused, and then finished in little more than a whisper, “But not.”

“I’m –I’m a wizard,” Harry offered quickly, feeling his magic crackle and flare around him in response to the creature’s tighter hold. “But I, I don’t know who the Eldar are.” He shook his head and squirmed in the tree’s hard hold, inwardly wincing as his hands and sides scraped against the rough, leathery bark.

“Not know who the Eldar are?” the creature shook Harry back and forth a bit, though absently so, its mind seeming to be elsewhere as it tilted its head and squinted its eyes to the dark, barely starlit sky. It switched its gaze back to Harry and growled. “ _That_ ,” it said with a rumble from deep in its throat, “is not possible. Even the darkest of creatures on Arda know of the Eldar. Hroom, a-tum, a-tum, tum,” it rasped out at the end.

Harry narrowed his eyes and felt his resolve strengthening. He had had enough of being cowed by a walking, talking tree that dared pick him up, shake him around, and question him like Snape back in Potions class. Gripping his wand that had slacked at his side as the tree-creature had pinned it against his side in its unforgiving hold, Harry whipped his wand around in front of him with a flick of his wrist, and a burst of white magic struck out, surprising the creature and causing it to drop Harry for the moment.

Harry rolled out of the way for the second time that night the moment he touched the ground and then turned quickly around into a low crouch to eye the creature warily, wand still out and held firmly at his side. He felt a twinge of pain in his left ankle, but ignored it in favour of gathering his magic once more, ready to strike the moment the creature even thought to move towards him again.

The creature blinked slowly at Harry, but seemed to still be in shock, as it made no move to recapture Harry and just stayed staring where it stood.

Breathing a bit heavily once more in all the excitement, his heartbeat still beating erratically, Harry stood slowly and took a reflexive step back in caution. “Keep back,” he snarled in warning, jerking his wand forward with little embellishment and a curse to disarm on the tip of his tongue. “If you won’t tell me who you are or what you mean, then I don’t see any reason to tell you anything either,” he said forcefully. In addition to his adrenalin still running high and shaking through his body, his nerves were currently wound particularly tight with tension as well.

In response, the creature threw its shoulders back in an affronted gesture, its entire body language radiating shock and insult as it stared back at Harry in silence.

The seconds ticked by into minutes, hours, and days. Harry felt like an eternity passed as he stared the creature down and the creature pressed him with a hard gaze in turn.

Finally, it seemed to have come to some sort of a decision as it let its shoulders drop from their defensive position, and its face pulled back into what Harry could only interpret as an amused grimace in the scarce lighting and crisscrossed shadows that filled the spaces between.

“Ahroom, tum, room, tum, roomty toom tum,” it crooned, its limbs shaking gently at its side. “You’ve got spirit, young one, that’s for sure.” It lifted its chin to regard Harry cautiously for a moment, several more seconds ticking by slowly, and then eventually it droned out, “Treebeard,” with a tone of finality.

Harry scrunched his brows in confusion, as he certainly wasn’t sure what to make of that. But otherwise he did not let his surprise show, nor did he let his fighting posture lax in the slightest, even though his ankle was beginning to do more than protest and his thighs were screaming at him to move.

“What?” he finally asked, a bit shorter than what would be deemed polite, to be certain, but the pain in his ankle had been steadily building as he’d waited out the tree’s silent judgement. And with the adrenaline quickly draining from his body, added to the lack of sleep he’d been experiencing since he’d entered this accursed forest, Harry calculated it to be only moments before his body completely gave up and he dropped dead from sheer exhaustion, among other things. As it was, whether he came out sounding rude or not was not too high on his list of concerns.

“I,” the creature drawled out in a long, deep note, “am sometimes called Treebeard; one of the many names I have, but the others are much longer and would take a very, very long time to say, and you obviously don’t have the time to be talking to an old ent like me. Rushing, rushing, always rushing,” it – Treebeard – warbled melodically.

Harry could already feel a headache beginning to form in addition to the pain in his leg as he listened to the creature. An ‘ent’, had it called itself? What was an ent anyway? At least he had its name now, Treebeard, as well as what it was, technically, but for some reason that didn’t really tell Harry much. There had to have been a reason that this entire forest was essentially blacked out on his map, allowing him to see nothing even while within its boundaries, and thus anything that lived here was automatically under his deep suspicion.

But all that aside, Harry still had no clue what the thing was talking about in regard to the Eldar. Was the Eldar even something good? And how in the world did he, Harry, _smell_ of it?

Harry would say that being identified by a smell was the oddest thing he’d ever heard, but then again, some of his conversations with Luna had certainly been stranger than that. And as a result, Harry’s shock reflex was certainly already pretty high.

“No one has the time to stop in and visit with the trees and the ents of Fanghorn Forest anymore,” Treebeard continued in its - his? - soliloquy, nodding intermittently as he did so and keeping his eyes on Harry as he spoke, “Unless it is to come in with their knives, and their axes, and their fire,” he gnarled menacingly, his pitch and tempo rising with his anger, making Harry release an internal sigh of relief that he did not use any of those methods against the tree that had attacked him. And from what he had heard so far, Treebeard was not making any derogatory comments about magic, so that had to count for _something_ in Harry’s favour.

“This forest is old, and I have stayed awake protecting it for many, many centuries, even whilst all my brothers went to sleep,” Treebeard said, shaking his head with a mournful turn of his mouth and eyes. “But a power is stirring in the forest once again, after so many years; so very many years. The trees are rousing from their slumber, and they remember. Oh yes, they remember; they remember the elves coming and waking them up, teaching them to speak, to think for themselves,” he paused, “and to remember.”

Treebeard lifted his head and looked off into the distance. Harry did not know the extent of an ent’s sight in the dark, let alone in the light, but it was clear that the old ent – very old ent, it sounded like – was seeing that which was no longer there. Harry swallowed and cleared his throat silently, beginning to let his hostility and residual anger from the pain and his earlier battle mindset relax some and his curiosity to grow.

Why had Lord Celeborn not mentioned these ents when he had been telling –warning more like – the Fellowship about Fangorn? They were obviously an important fixture to the forest, if Treebeard’s introduction was anything to go by.

“But now,” Treebeard turned back and spoke plaintively, “Not even those with the blood of the Eldar, the very ones that spoke life into us, not even they come and see us anymore. Ahrum, hroom, hoom, hoom, hm, hm, hm,” he wheezed off painfully.

Ah, Harry thought, the Eldar were the elves then. Unless he had seriously misconstrued that last statement, that is. At least he had some idea of what Treebeard was talking about now, though how the ent thought he, Harry, was even remotely like an elf was completely lost on him. Then again, if the ent was really as old as he was making himself sound, senility could certainly be a plausible excuse.

But before Harry could ask to clarify, Treebeard ended the note he had been humming roughly as he slowly shook his head and halted his gaze to stare down at Harry sternly, and he began to speak again. “But whether you have time or not, a hrum, hoom, tum, tum, hrum,” the creature droned on, “I am still the Lord of Fangorn, and you are not getting past me without telling me who you are.” Treebeard nodded his head and widened his stance as though daring Harry to try and pass him.

Biting back a sigh, Harry realised he might have gotten out of the creature’s grip, but that didn’t mean he was out of danger just yet. Seeing no way out, especially if he wanted to make it through this forest in one piece, and in a timely fashion as well, Harry reluctantly ground out his first name, nothing more. And then seeing Treebeard still looking expectantly at him; well, expectantly for a tree, he repeated, “I’m a wizard, like I said before.” He briefly thought of mentioning his place with the Fellowship, feeling the small need to share his pride at belonging to the group, but remembered that the group was intent on remaining secret for a reason, and quickly suppressed the unexpected urge to share.

Treebeard, though, was still looking at him as though waiting for more and Harry squirmed in frustration as he wracked his mind for what else he could safely say. He didn’t even know what side this creature, or the forest as a whole, was on. He wasn’t going to blindly give vital information from the Light side to the Dark side just on this old tree’s - sorry - ent’s say so.

Finally, Treebeard seemed to have gotten frustrated with Harry as well, though Harry doubted it could possibly match his own frustration and confusion with the ent, and blustered out, “But what _are_ you? You are not one of the Eldar folk, hroom, hroom, though you have the slight scent of one. Yet neither are you one of the Istar; much too young, much too young,” he grumbled, “yet I know with the certainty that the leaves are green that it was magic I saw you do. No doubt about that.” It shook its head slowly, its lips pressed together in consternation. “And no man or orc can do magic like that. No, indeed. So tell me what you _are_ ,” it insisted, blowing out the last word like one would blow upon the white seeds of a dandelion, setting the syllables to the wind with the same forceful exuberance.

Harry’s jaw opened and closed successively with no words coming forth, until finally he realised what he was doing and snapped it shut with a click of his teeth. Apparently the old ent wasn’t familiar enough with the term ‘wizard’, or he just assumed Harry was lying since he obviously wasn't one of the Istari, something Harry felt a little proud to actually understand the meaning of now.

Alright, so he didn’t fit the mould for anything in this world. That was alright; he wasn’t from this world anyway, but he didn’t see the need to let this ent know that. An ent, mind you, that Harry still wasn’t sure whether to call friend or foe, perhaps the forest was neutral; who knew? Though he had once rather doubted that anything could remain neutral when an entire world was at stake, but the wizarding world had swiftly disabused him of that notion, after watching so many families stick their heads in the sand and choose to ‘respectfully bow out’ of any conflict taking place. That was all well and good for them, but not something Harry could ever do.

He hoped he would not be putting the ents and the Forest of Fangorn in the same category as those spineless ‘neutrals’. Yet at the same time, he had to admit it would be preferable to grouping them with the Enemy, which would be even more reason to not let Treebeard know who he really was, let alone the mission causing him to traverse Fangorn in the first place.

Letting Treebeard know something of what he was doing here might help though, Harry mused. He had to tell Treebeard _something_ or the ent would not let him pass through. And he sorely needed to pass through the forest, as he had already ruled out going around the forest as too dangerous, as well as taking up too much precious time; time that was ultimately working against Frodo and the Fellowship.

He could lie and make something up, he supposed. That might save time and allow him to get out of here as quickly as possible, but what if Treebeard caught onto the lie? Harry had never been a particularly proficient liar, he would grudgingly admit. And he might be able to get past the freakishly tall ent with his magic, but not the whole forest. The forest was apparently waking up and was generally miffed and blood thirsty for creatures not of the plant variety that attacked with their axes, knives, swords, and fire – and magic now, as well. He imagined he wouldn't get very far. While having an ent’s help, on the other hand, could surely be useful.

Harry lightly worried his bottom lip as he tried to think of the best way to go about this. Treebeard, for his part, seemed to have no qualms waiting however long it took for Harry to answer. Patience seemed to be more than a virtue for ents, but rather, Harry would venture to say, a complete way of life. After all, watching over a dying forest had to get pretty boring. No wonder Treebeard spoke so slowly and in such drawn out sentences.

Harry felt himself getting antsy just thinking about it. He jiggled his right leg, immediately regretting it as his weight transferred to his injured left. Harry gently swore through clenched teeth and pushed his nails deeper into the palms of his hands. The answer was no clearer to him than a moment ago, and all he could think about now was the fact that he was still in pain and exhausted.

Then suddenly, ostensibly unbidden, his mind turned to the prophecy-like words Legolas had recited to him so long ago. Narrowing his eyes, he gave it but a moment of thought before he tilted his chin up defiantly, quickly feeling much more confident than he probably had any right to feel at the moment. He declared softly, “I am a warrior on the Hierarchy of Spirits, come to Arda answering the Song, and I have need to pass through this forest in completion of the quest set out for me by the Valar themselves. By the will of the Powers of Arda, let me pass, help me on my quest, and see the lands of Middle Earth set right once more.”

And again, just as quickly as the words and wave of knowledge had come to him, they disappeared once more, a feeling Harry was becoming very familiar with recognising as the presence of the Valar. He mentally grinded his teeth as his mind and words became his own again; he hated the feeling of being used, even helpfully so, like some kind of puppet. It left a bad taste in his mouth, reminding him too much of Voldemort’s forceful possessions into his mind. How was it that he could keep the Lady Galadriel out of his mind, yet this all-seeing, all-powerful Valar could butt in whenever they saw fit? Yes, Harry appreciated the help and information when necessary, but the way they went about it, as though assuming Harry was theirs to mould and use as they liked, really rubbed Harry the wrong way.

While Harry had been having his own little inner rant, though, Treebeard had started grumbling, grunting, and humming again, though in a much more upbeat manner than he had been before.

“Room tum, room tum, roomty toom, toom,” he let out with a cheerful cry. “Well that explains it then. Come,” he nodded his head and turned around, beckoning Harry to follow with the wave of his hand. “The forest is awakening and is no longer safe for travellers; I will take you to my home, and you will tell me about your quest.” And with a smile, Treebeard turned back and began walking away from Harry.

Harry, for his part, wasn't sure the best course of action at the moment. But following the one in control of the forest seemed like a good idea for now. Maybe he would get some help on this quest after all.

Closing his eyes for but a second to gather his strength, Harry took a deep breath and made to move his left leg forward and begin walking after the ent. But before he could even put his foot back down, the pain that he had been trying his hardest to ignore since his tussle with the deranged tree spiked sharply throughout his body and darkness immediately descended, completely shrouding his mind. With a muted thump, he collapsed for a third time that night onto the forest floor and he knew no more.

. … …. . …. . …. .. …. … .

Legolas had given much thought to it all night, but in the end decided to keep the contents of the prophecy to himself. At least until such a time when Harry was back with the Company to hear it with them. Letting the Fellowship know before Harry didn’t seem right; it had as much to do with trust - gaining Harry’s trust, that is - as it did with the fact that not all of the Company were ready to know yet. Still, Legolas knew he couldn’t keep them completely in the dark for much longer.

Boromir and Gimli were growing more and more restless with every revolution of the sun in the sky, and the hobbits, barring Frodo, were understandably confused at the turn of events that still had no clear rhyme or reason to their eyes. Aragorn seemed to understand that which Legolas left unspoken, but Legolas knew that even his Ranger friend was curious, given that he had seen more of his and Harry’s initial exchange than the rest of the group, and had hitherto been respectfully silent about it.

The sun was already cresting the plains in its brilliant morning light by the time Legolas brought his musings to an end. He had not woken Aragorn for watch, as he had seen that his friend needed his sleep and was gladly willing to weather whatever stern words Aragorn had for him. Aside from being an elf, for whom sleeping every night was not strictly necessary, he felt his energy levels bolstered ever so slightly by the presence of his new friend. The shining, silver stag, always at his side, stood with Legolas, and they made their way over to where the bags lay. Legolas reasoned the best way to get the blood flowing through his limbs again would be to get a start on breakfast and let the smell wake the hobbits before Sam could take over.

As he worked, quietly pulling pans and cooking utensils from their respective places, Legolas’ thoughts returned inevitably to Harry once more. How he was getting on, had he packed enough food, was he eating alright, had he run into any trouble that he couldn’t handle? It was slowly driving him mad, this worry that seemed to be never-ending, no matter how often he reminded himself that Harry was strong and could take care of himself.

Perhaps it was Legolas’ recent acceptance of the prophecy, or the reminder of its words and what they meant as a result of going through them in his head last night, but his worry for Harry had only escalated since he’d discovered him missing that first morn and it wasn’t getting any easier. Then what was possibly worse, adding to an already growing problem, Legolas’ sense of foreboding in regard to the path the Fellowship was currently following had only deepened during the night. He had a feeling that whatever trouble they would run into would be met today or sometime in the very near future.

There was no use warning Aragorn of it again, though, as it would only serve to scare the hobbits. So he remained silent as his friends began to wake and gather around him for breakfast.

“I have something important to impart to you all,” Legolas said quietly once everyone had sat down and begun to eat. “Part of the reason I was as stubborn as a dwarf in my appeal to follow Harry, despite the fact that it pulled us away from our intended path.”

The hobbits shifted in their seats, and Gimli glared good-naturedly Legolas’ way, quietly rebutting that elves were mulishly stubborn all on their own without any need to drag the dwarves’ good name through the mud. Boromir and Aragorn, however, sat up straighter and acted, if possible, even more alert than usual.

“You see,” Legolas began, taking a deep, calming breath, “there is a prophecy, written over a millennia ago, about Harry,” he paused, wondering how this next bit was going to be taken, “and myself.”

As expected, they didn't take it without comment.

“A what?” Pippin piped in, looking over to Merry for explanation. But his friend ignored him for the moment in favour of staring at Legolas, his eyes steadily widening in his head until they threatened to fall out and his jaw slackening and sliding toward the ground.

“A prophecy,” Gimli grumbled, his eyebrows reaching high into his helmet as he looked at Legolas in disbelief, and then quickly dropped in consternation. “Some mumbo jumbo put together years ago that you think just _might_ fit you and Harry?” he blustered, brushing an invisible bug in front of him with a wide sweep of his arm. “Are you even _sure_?” he stressed, leaning forward with his hands pressed into his knees as he regarded Legolas like one might a sick person.

“Quite,” Legolas answered succinctly with a terse nod, and then turned his attentions to Aragorn, the only one who seemed intrigued by Legolas’ statement. “You will remember at our first meeting on the rocky highlands after taking our leave of Dwarrowmere, you asked me whether he was of elven blood in the language of my people and I quickly answered that I could sense no such thing.

“But I spoke too soon and without consideration.” Legolas took a long, slow breath through his nose and carried on. “Later that same night, I told you that there was a way to expose his true intentions, a secret known to just a select few elves that was to be used in only the direst of circumstance.” At Aragorn’s nod of recollection, urging him to continue, Legolas turned to the rest of the group to clarify.

“The Sindar have words of power, blessed by the Valar themselves, that bind the messenger and listener to speak only that which their most base and essential beliefs can support.”

All but Aragorn, who was much more familiar with the ways of the elves, affected an array of confused expressions in response to his slightly cryptic statement. So Legolas decided to just describe it as it happened and do his best to explain its significance from there.

“There is a phrase that holds great power to the elves, and it should only be used when no other possible solution can present itself. By using these words on Harry, the night of his arrival, when we were still not sure whether his magic was to be trusted or not, I knew I would be able to reveal his true intentions to the Fellowship, and whether we considered him friend or foe.” He let that statement sink in for a moment, meeting the gaze of each of his companions, hoping to impart upon them the gravity of the situation and why he chose to act as he had at the time. But he saw no judgement reflected in any of their eyes, only a wide range of understanding, coupled with the base curiosity over what had taken place between their resident elf and missing wizard without their knowledge.

“I will not repeat the exact phrasing here as it is too dangerous and powerful to pass one’s lips for naught, but to make my words more plain and easier to assimilate, I will tell you that I was expecting from Harry one of two responses that would reveal his allegiance to either the side of the Light or the Dark, and nothing more.” Legolas, in an ill-suited gesture for an elf, fidgeted in his seat and clasped his hands in front of him with a quick, jerk of his hands, before resting his elbows on his knees to keep his feet firmly on the ground and his knees from quivering restlessly. “To speak truthfully, though,” he said solemnly, his voice not betraying the emotion and nervousness his body seemed unable to contain, “those words can bring forth one of six answers, three of which are indicators of eminent prophecies told in ancient times. They would be but forgotten if not for the foresight of our ancestors to preserve them as they did, with the help of the Valar themselves.”

Legolas paused once more and waited, bowing his head in shame. Knowing that this next part must be obvious to all at this point did not make it any easier to pass his lips and breathe metaphorical life to the state of affairs that had haunted his dreams since the first night of Harry’s arrival.

Finally, feeling the agitation and waning patience of those around him, Legolas lifted his eyes to the group and spoke gravely the words he had admitted to no one since learning the truth himself. “Harry replied in confirmation of one of those prophecies.”

Apparently, it had not been quite as obvious as Legolas had assumed, or the reality of the situation was just beginning to take hold in their minds, opening their eyes to that which they had been reluctant to believe. Pippin, for his part, seemed to finally understand what was going on and was looking properly shocked and a bit awed. Boromir had a fire in his eyes that was something Legolas could neither identify as solely anger nor fear, but it unsettled him all the same. Gimli had quieted at last and begun seriously contemplating Legolas’ words as he stroked his beard thoughtfully with a faraway look in his eyes. Frodo hid his face beneath the fringe of his curly hair as he bent his head down towards his feet, while Sam, and in a lesser case Merry as well, seemed to be reserving judgement for the moment and continued to look evenly and expectantly at Legolas for more. Meanwhile, Aragorn nodded meditatively to himself, probably trying to analyse Legolas and Harry’s words on that fateful night as he remembered them.

Nonetheless, Legolas supposed that he had finally come full circle in his explanation of Harry’s role in the Elven prophecy. As he’d decided earlier, he wasn’t going to reveal the contents of the prophecy to them without Harry hearing it first. But that didn’t mean Legolas expected there to be no questions. He would just have to wait patiently and weather them as they came.

He did not have to wait for too long.

“But what does Harry fulfilling some old, elvish prophecy have to do with _you_?” Gimli voiced in his rough and gruff manner.

Legolas bit back a sigh. Of course they would start with one that Legolas was both pained and ashamed to answer. Legolas’ part, or absence thus far, in the entire matter was an ever-growing mystery to the elf, one that he hoped very much would come to light when he caught up with Harry once more.

“The prophecy, which I cannot tell you at the moment before giving Harry a chance to hear its full contents first, also mentions a Companion,” Legolas replied evenly. “He or she is to be identified as the one who is first to recognise and acknowledge the prophesised person’s place as a fighter for the Valar on Middle Earth. By calling him to answer the word of my ancestors and the Valar themselves, I was the first to hear him formally answer the Call and claim his status, thus conferring upon me the responsibility of Companion.” Legolas halted to take a breath that was as much of a necessity mentally as it was physically.

“I was caught in a state of disbelief at first. I was entangled with the tiny detail of his lack of elven blood,” his eyes flickered briefly to Aragorn, “and his outwardly young appearance looking to be barely a handful of summers old, as well as the fact that he came from a world very separate from our own.

“I thought for sure there must be some slip of the tongue passed Fate’s lips; a mistake or misunderstanding of some kind. Perhaps I had not internalised the teachings of my masters about the history of our race as well as I had thought.” Legolas shook his head self-deprecatingly. He had been such a fool. “It did not seem possible; he was just a boy,” Legolas ended with a whisper, speaking mainly to the demons in his own head than to the straining, listening ears surrounding him in morbid fascination.

Raising his eyes to his waiting friends, Legolas smiled thinly with no real pleasure. “I understand him better now; he is no mere boy and hasn’t been for quite some time. I know he is very powerful and that he has a very strong moral compass that would never allow him to stray to the path of the Enemy. But there is still so much to learn about him that I did not take the time to see before it was too late.” Legolas sighed heavily again. “The moment my eyes were finally opened and had begun to clear of their haze to see this truth that has been present from the beginning, he was whisked from my side on another mission from the Valar. I wonder whether they had not heard the thoughts in my head, blustering like the fiercest of storms with blasphemous, doubting words, giving them cause to take him away to better show me the folly of my ways.”

The small fire, barely a smoulder, Legolas had built for breakfast finally crackled and died, its remains falling into its own embers with a muted pop and hiss. Legolas absently brushed a hand through it, scattering the ashes across the ground in an attempt to do something with his limbs.

“Well,” Gimli grunted, clearing his throat forcefully after several seconds had passed in an uncomfortable silence, “What’s so important about being the Companion, anyway?”

Unbidden, Legolas’ eyes immediately wavered in the direction of his silver friend, who was currently standing on the periphery of the group and looking in with a bored, listless expression at the proceedings taking place.

Gimli had posed yet another question that Legolas was not entirely sure how to answer, and one which also caused him great pain with the reminder of how badly he had failed Harry from the beginning. There was no warning in the prophecy of the Companion being unwilling, nor initially as dense as a newly created orc, yet that’s exactly what Legolas had been. Finally, in a quiet voice, head turned to the cresting hills in the far distance once more, Legolas began to answer. “The Companion is supposed to help the protector, but that is all I can say at the present moment until I can disclose the full prophecy as well as its implications with Harry first.”

Another moment of silence passed as the Company digested this answer, and then Legolas added in an even softer voice, “I have done such a very poor job thus far, but I will make amends and do everything within my power from this very moment to take up the full mantle of Companion and be there for Harry as has been prophesised, and more. I only pray that he will first forgive me for my transgressions and allow me the chance to become better acquainted with him and his past, which has shaped him so admirably into the powerful wizard he is today,” Legolas finished solemnly, eyes downcast and morose.

“Of course, he’ll forgive you,” Pippin cried, breaking the sombre moment with his usual alacrity. “This is Harry we’re talking about; you know. He’s one of the nicest people I’ve ever met,” the young hobbit stated matter-of-factly with a sure, enthusiastic nod of his head. “I’m sure if you just ask him nicely, he’ll give you a second chance.”

Legolas smiled at the optimistic lad in spite of himself, glad to know that Harry had such good, honest friends among the Fellowship despite Legolas’ initially cold welcome. He didn’t think it would be quite as easy as Pippin was making it out to be, but he appreciated the sentiment all the same, and hoped for the possibility that he was just worrying unnecessarily after all. However, one look at Frodo, who had finally shown his face to reveal a deep, pensive frown that caused creases of worry and hesitation along his countenance, had Legolas rather doubting that any of this would go as well as Pippin was imagining in his head.

The interrogation, surprisingly short though it was, seemed to have come to an end for the moment. Legolas realised no more questions or additional observations were coming forth; no one seemed to know what else to say. Legolas was sure more thoughts and concerns would be voiced later, but while it lasted, Legolas decided to take the opportune silence to encourage the Company to start moving on for the day. Aragorn was quick to agree, and several minutes later, due to the fumbled packing attempts of Merry and Pippin, they were moving south once more.

The silvery stag had taken its habitual spot by Legolas’ side and Legolas once again found that small comfort and steady force of happiness bolstering his spirits with the magical animal’s presence that never failed to remind him of Harry.

“Ithildin,” Legolas whispered to his brilliantly shining friend after a moment. “I think it well past time that you had a _proper_ name,” he said, thinking that ‘Prongs’, as Harry had introduced him, sounded more like a title or nickname than anything suitably appropriate for this magnificent creature. “You do not seem to be inclined to leave us any time soon, and what better name than one that reflects the light of the stars and the moon itself as you reflect back all that look upon you with a happiness and joy as bright as the silvery substance with which you shine?” Legolas smiled at his friend, the first genuine grin he had shared with the world in days. His bit of gladness could be contributed in part to the fact that he hoped somehow that Harry had heard his conversation with the remaining Fellowship through this magical beast. Or maybe Legolas felt encouraged that the stag was still here, by his side, protecting Legolas as a product of Harry’s own magic, despite the shaky ground on which he and Harry remained.

Either way, Ithildin did not pause in his stride, accepting his name as he had all other comments Legolas had sent his way, which was to say without affect, sense of awareness, or obvious outward signs of intelligence at all, other than to not leave Legolas’ side. Secretly, though, Legolas hoped that his suspicions of the creature’s magic and purpose would be proven correct soon, as he knew they were all heading straight into trouble and would need every bit of help they could get.

After all, when walking willingly into darkness, one’s best defence was usually the protection of the light. Legolas had a feeling that Harry knew this best of all.


	16. Treebeard’s Tale and the Uruk-Hai

The ground was soft underneath him and a bit springy too, Harry noticed with confusion as his mind quickly became alert and aware of his surroundings.

Harry had grown accustomed to waking up from a less than fulfilling, and rather restless night’s sleep to eerie silence and a crick in his back. But mainly what had bothered him the most was the silence. No matter how far he ventured into the heart of Fangorn, no birds sang, no crickets chirped, no small animals rustled in the trees or bushes, and no bigger beasts of prey made their appearance either. It was like the entire forest was devoid of all but trees and scraggly ground plants. It was rather disconcerting.

Not that he could imagine any living creature inhabiting this forest as it were. With its dim, stuffy air, and dry, cracked tree limbs, and vines crisscrossing up and over one another to block any light from entering. Most of the trees seemed to be half covered in long, trailing beards, whiskers of lichen, and shrivelled, twisted leaves that never fell from their brittle branches. Dark, dankness of death and decay permeated everything and Harry thought that even his friend Neville, with his unending love of plants and all things growing, would be sufficiently creeped out by this place.

This entire forest seemed to have stopped growing centuries ago and Harry felt like he was the only thing around for miles and miles. None of which helped when his map still continued to shroud the entire forest in a grey, mottled haze. He had stopped checking the third day in, as it had stopped being useful for the moment.

The blindness, the eerie silence, and the very musty scent of decay all had him constantly on edge and anxiously looking over his shoulder for an attack. He had quickly become accustomed to sleeping light and awakening instantly.

But not this time.

He had slept long and slept well; he could tell from the crusty stickiness behind his eyelids, the heavy, disused feeling throughout his limbs and the stale taste in his mouth and on his tongue. It went without saying that it was a first for Harry since entering the forest. Actually, it was a first since Harry had left Lórien and those comfy settee-like beds in the pavilion beneath the Lord and Lady’s tree. It was the first time he truly felt comfortable upon waking up. And what was more, for the first time in a _very_ long time, so long that he could no longer keep track, he felt relatively _safe_ waking up as well.

Still, the reflexes he had built up over the years weren’t to be forgotten that easily, and the moment he returned to consciousness, Harry’s eyes snapped open and his body tensed, ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice.

Everything swam before his eyes in shades of grey and black as light slowly filtered back into his retinas. His glasses had fallen onto his chest sometime in the night and he quickly fumbled with them to place them back on his nose and hopefully bring some clarity to his current situation. Blinking rapidly and breathing in deep breaths of surprisingly crisp, cold air, Harry reached out his senses and listened intently for any signs of where he might be. But all he heard in an otherwise eerily silent forest was the sound of water falling.

Pushing a hand behind him to sit up, Harry paused for a moment to appreciate the feel of soft moss under his fingers. No wonder he had felt so comfortable waking up; this was as close to a bed and mattress as he was ever going to get in this forest, and he made sure to properly revel in the moment while he could. He was considering lying back down and seeing if he could catch up on even more sleep while he was able, even as his common sense screamed at him to stay alert. It was then that he realised that his clothes were slightly damp and clinging to him a bit uncomfortably as he shifted around and stretched a bit. He didn’t remember getting wet.

He _did_ remember being in pain, though; pain that had caused him to finally pass out once his exhausted body refused to move for him any longer. But he no longer felt any of that pain. It was gone without a trace. Another odd occurrence in itself, as Harry had not been free of pain altogether since leaving Lothlórien. It was an odd, yet invigorating feeling. What in Merlin’s good name was going on?

Finally beginning to take in his surroundings, Harry saw that he was in a dim cave of some sort, which would account for the shades of grey still dominating his vision. Looking to his far left, a long, low platform of some type, covered deep in dried grass and bracken abutted the wall. It almost looked to be a bed of some sort. In the middle of the room, a couple feet from where Harry’s head had lain moments before, stood a tall stone table with not even a single chair.

Atop the table, from his seated vantage point, he could see two large clay jugs, whose lids were obviously open as a dim, greenish-gold glow emanated at the top from the liquid inside. The light coming from the jugs was then reflected onto the ceiling above, which was curved up in a cathedral-like arch and decorated with soft glowing leaves of gold and green, acting as a source of light for the shadowy cave that was obviously a home of some sort.

A home. Suddenly, and with all the force of a _Reducto_ , the events of yesterday came crashing back into the forefront of his mind. He was in Treebeard’s home; Treebeard, the Ent he had met yesterday and told of his mission for the Valar.

Panic and feelings of anxiety flooded his senses as he realised Treebeard must have carried him off to some unknown part of the forest last night after Harry had passed out and would be coming back any minute now. Following that line of thought, Harry’s head whipped around to the front entrance, where a wall of falling water acted as a door and gathered into a shallow bay below, making it impossible for anyone to pass through without getting wet; hence, his damp clothes. Beyond the wall of water, he glimpsed bits of greens, browns, and white lights, but everything was rather distorted by the water and he couldn’t be sure of anything ‘til he ventured forth.

And there was the real conundrum, should he head out, explore, and try to figure out where he was and how far off his path he’d strayed, or stay here and wait for Treebeard and find out if the Ent could be of any help?

Well, knowing that he was in Treebeard’s home at least explained why everything looked like it belonged in Hagrid’s cabin. But beyond the fact that the talking tree was tall and that Treebeard knew of the Valar, Harry knew relatively little of his potential ally-slash-possible kidnapper. On the one hand, what did he have to lose other than his life and breaking his promise to Frodo and the Fellowship? On the other hand, whether he was in one of Treebeard’s homes or out in the forest, he was still in the Ent’s stomping ground and would have no advantage over the Ent no matter where he was. So waiting here or waiting for the Ent to find him again as Harry walked through his woods made no difference really. He supposed he might as well stay and wait for the inevitable.

Scooting himself to the back wall that was sheer rock with a bit of moss clinging to spots on the slightly damp surface, Harry leant backwards and let his eyes close. It helped in forcing his ears to sharpen as he bid his time and awaited Treebeard’s return.

He didn't have to wait all that long before the deep, soothing sounds of throaty humming coming from the base of a hollowed wood instrument reached his ears over the dull roar of the waterfall. Back tensing straight in spite of himself, Harry quickly moved to stand up and greet the Ent at as level a height as he could manage.

A tall, looming shadow grew in front of the curtain of falling water before Treebeard made his entrance, stepping under the water and standing there for several moments. With eyes closed in obvious pleasure, the Ent let the water soak him through, all the while humming deeply in contentment.

After about a minute had passed with Harry watching bemusedly in anticipation to see what the Ent would do next, Treebeard suddenly let out a great, cheerful laugh and shook his limbs. The leaves on his head quivered as if from a stiff breeze and the moss under his chin swayed in wet clumps. Still shaking in silent chuckles, Treebeard finally entered the cave and made his way to Harry’s side with a sanguine grin on his face.

“A hrum, hrum, hmm, I see you're awake and up and about, lad, and just,” he heaved a breath and then let out a long, musical sigh, “in time, too. I was wondering if you were going to sleep the day away. And that would not be good as we,” Treebeard drew out the vowel into a long, melodic note, almost like a drawn-out sigh, “have much to talk about.” Treebeard finished with a nod of his head as he came to stand at the stone table and looked expectantly at Harry, waiting diffidently a few steps away.

“Come,” Treebeard urged with a wave of his leathery arm, “You must be thirsty.”

As Harry slowly made his way towards the table, Treebeard walked to the back of the cave close to his bed, where, bathed in even deeper shadow, was a long shelf filled with several wide stone jars covered with thick granite slabs as lids. Harry assumed it must be holding the drink Treebeard was promising. But as he doubted Ents were partial to wine or pumpkin juice, he wondered how preserved water could be any better than the fresh stuff falling in the entranceway. What else could talking tree creatures possibly drink?

More than a little curious, Harry watched, laying his arms crossed atop the table, as Treebeard retrieved from the top shelf two bowls, which looked rather similar to the teacups Harry was accustomed to accepting from his half-giant friend. The Ent then lifted the lid off one of the stone jars and ladled out two bowlfuls before returning to the stone table, which would have been at waist height to the Ent if the creature had a waist, but that would probably denote the ability to bend in ways Ents did not possess.

Laying the two bowls down between them, Treebeard beckoned Harry to join him up at eye level, “We Ents have no need for chairs, as you can see, but you can sit on the table for now just as well as any chair, and that will do while we talk.”

Harry surveyed the problem for a moment, seeing as the table was already chest height for him. With some struggle, he turned around until his back was to the table and heaved himself up with his arms to sit. The surface was colder than he thought and in combination with his already damp clothing, Harry had to fight a shiver wracking his entire frame before he could turn to accept one of the bowls from Treebeard.

Peering down into his drink in interest, shuffling it in his palms, Harry was a bit taken aback to find that it looked more like the contents of a Pensieve than any water he’d ever drunk. Clear but thick and glowing with slivers of what looked like thought-like substance that swirled throughout and moved against the flow of gravity as Harry continued to swivel the bowl between his hands. He wondered if it wasn't alive on some level or just enchanted in some way with a magic known only to the Ents. Apparently, there was quite a bit of magic in this world that wizards alone could not solely claim.

A little apprehensive, but not wanting to appear rude, especially to a creature he knew next to nothing about, Harry waited until it didn’t jump up at him or start smoking, and then eventually tilted the bowl to his lips and took a tentative sip.

Heady, exotic, and exhilarating, the drink barraged his senses like a sudden rush of wind and rain on a hot, dry day. One tiny sip quickly turned into one long pull that filled his mouth and flowed down his throat. It slaked any and all thirst he had, even hunger that Harry hadn’t been aware of. Though a moment ago he had been ready to catch a bit more sleep, now he felt ready and eager to go climb a mountain, run a marathon, produce a hundred Patronus Charms and then take on Sauron himself. Blinking rapidly as his body took in the strange innervations, Harry lowered the half-empty bowl to his lap.

Completely flabbergasted, Harry’s eyes widened in amazement as he tried to tease apart each distinctive taste and sensation in the intoxicating mélange. It was much richer and more invigorating than any water he’d ever tasted, that was for sure. And he felt like he was imbibing the essence of a hot summer night itself, lying out on the lawn, while breathing in the cloying, musky scent of greenhouses. It gave him the same impression and acute awareness of standing where the paths ended in the Forbidden Forest, just a step away from entering a suffocating darkness where no light permeated, and you knew you had no choice but to move forward. It gave him that anticipatory feeling of dusk coming, night descending, and one’s senses heightening instinctually like any other animal in preparation.

And it was all in one drink.

It immediately lent him exhilarating warmth that reminded Harry fleetingly of when he’d taken Legolas’ hand. The comforting heat that was transferred to his entire being with that brief contact, as well as that burst of pure energy that had shot through him in that same instance. In fact, now that he thought about it, Legolas smelt very much like hot summer nights lying on the lawn and that deep musky aroma of the woods after a storm as well.

Drinking Treebeard’s draught reminded him of Legolas.

Harry’s eyes widened again in shock, though this time not from the taste of the drink, but for another reason entirely. There wasn’t a stomach flip or chest monster involved this time, and Harry didn’t feel suddenly embarrassed. On the contrary, he still felt a healthy bit of indignation and uncertainty about the elf. Nonetheless, it scared him to recognise those feelings for what they were. And Harry just didn’t think it was possible to have something so silly as a _crush_ on Legolas.

Immediately clearing his throat in a half-hearted attempt to rid the taste from his throat, Harry shook his head in consternation. “Wow,” Harry breathed out, feeling a little winded, though he hadn’t moved for several minutes. “What is this stuff?” he distractedly asked Treebeard sotto voce, following it with a surreptitious swallow and a slight feeling of disappointment that the taste was much weaker in his mouth now.

“Ent draught,” Treebeard answered, showing that apparently Ent ears were quite sharp. “Ent draught is what this is.” Treebeard lifted his own bowl to his lips and quaffed the remainder in one long gulp. Releasing a sigh of contentment as he placed it back on the table with a dull clunk, Treebeard hummed deeply once more. A slow, lingering note that seemed to remind Harry of every good meal he had ever eaten and the fulfilment and pleasure that went with it. Especially after a good Hogwarts Welcoming Feast, when he would push back from the table and just sit there listening to the gentle hum of conversation around him.

“It’s all the food and drink one will ever need. It’s also known to have some healing properties as well, at least for Ents, that is,” Treebeard elucidated patiently as he set his empty bowl to the side. “Which is why I thought it might help whatever was ailing you to make you pass out last night. I also let you soak in the bay for a while too, as that always makes me feel better, and I had hoped it might do the same for you.” The Ent then peered down at Harry solicitously until Harry verbally admitted to feeling much better and thanking Treebeard for his help.

Smiling once more in relief and satisfaction, Treebeard went back to refill his bowl, offering to top up Harry’s as well. Harry declined, of course, as pained as he was to do so. He needed a clear head and the wonderful taste, heady rush, and confusing thoughts the draught left him with were not welcome at the moment.

“Now,” Treebeard said when he returned a moment later with a bowl filled to the brim in hand, “I apologise, ahrum-hrum, for being so, ah,” the Ent cleared his throat melodically, “hasty before. I was much too hasty in attacking you. Men do not traverse these woods any longer and I feared you were with the orcs from _Angrenost_ , or Isengard as the Men of Rohan have taken to calling it,” Treebeard offered as explanation. “Or you could have possibly been a spy from Saruman, perhaps. Nonetheless,” he shook his elongated head regretfully, “I should not have been so hasty. ‘Don’t be too hasty,’ that’s usually my motto, it is, but I could not be sure of your intent and thoughts of Saruman,” he said the name with a vicious growl not unlike a rabid dog, “these days get me hot and angered, and I don’t think before I act. Little better than a new-born sapling,” he added ruefully, making Harry grin at the analogy that only a talking tree could give.

“But now that I know you are sent from the Valar,” Treebeard continued, “I assume, a hoom-hmm, that you are here to help fight against Saruman’s forces taking over this forest, and that gives me reason to hope. So, tell me, tell me all about your mission and what you intend to do, but not too hastily! Not too much at once, as rushing things is never good. Men and elves like to speak too fast and say more than they should, not giving good time and respect for what has been done, what has grown, what has lived and died, and the story every living thing has to tell.

“I’m still not sure what you are, but I am thinking that you are neither man nor elf, and the only wizard I know that has ever had the time for trees and appreciated the stories of the Ents is Gandalf the Grey, and neither are you Gandalf, lad.”

Harry winced as he heard the name of the wizard, whom he had come to regard warily without even having met the old man. From what he’d heard, Gandalf seemed to be the only trustworthy, reliable, kind, and caring wizard on Middle Earth. It was no wonder everyone held the late sorcerer in such high regard and was so wary of Harry. But more often than he liked, Harry was compared to Gandalf as well as this other wizard Saruman, though for entirely different reasons, and none of them were good in his opinion. Harry saw his own magic as very different from that of these Istari, and it irked him that no one on Middle Earth seemed to realise this. Still, he felt a little guilty hearing Treebeard talk about Gandalf like he was an old friend and wondered if he should be the one to tell the Ent that Gandalf was no longer alive.

“Hroom, no matter what you are, though, you are here to help, are you not?” Treebeard looked down piercingly, drawing Harry’s gaze from where he had been morosely contemplating the contents of his drink as he listened to Treebeard’s rumbles.

Swallowing thickly, Harry took a deep breath and nodded solemnly, looking straight into Treebeard’s deep black eyes. “Yes, I am here to help.”

That answer seemed to appease Treebeard for the moment and the Ent leant back in apparent thought, closing his eyes and humming in that low bass tone Harry had come to enjoy. Eventually, Treebeard nodded in acceptance and then pushed on, “And for that you must tell me more about why you are here and what you know, for I have not heard news for so long.

“But do not be too hasty about it, for too much information at once can cause one to lose sight of all the leaves that make up the branch, or to not see the strong limb holding up the new buds of green. So not too hasty, not too hasty, but do tell me of your mission, lad,” Treebeard entreated with a final sigh and seemed to settle where he stood, his long root-like toes curling into the moss and rocky bed of the floor.

“Um,” Harry opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Frankly he wasn’t sure what to say. He had already vowed to himself not to say anything, certainly nothing about the Fellowship. Their mission was, above all else, a secret and needed to be kept quiet for Frodo to succeed. And outside of his time with the Fellowship there really wasn't anything he could say. He had not seen much beyond Lórien, the river, and Fangorn.

He didn’t understand his relationship with the Valar, other than that they were using him to accomplish some goal of peace for Middle Earth. And even if he did understand more, that would not be information he would be inclined to share. Beyond that, Harry knew nothing of the state of affairs in Middle Earth, and he rather doubted Treebeard wanted to hear about the wizarding war back in his own world. That was not the kind of news Treebeard was after. But what else was there to say?

Rather than talk about himself or what little he knew of Middle Earth; Harry would much rather hear Treebeard talk about Saruman and find out what he could that could be used to his advantage on this quest. If only he could find a way to steer the conversation in such a way that would not only get Treebeard to tell him what he knew about Saruman, but that would finagle the Ent’s help as well.

Harry frowned and his eyes turned down to the drink in his hand once more. Though it wasn’t gold in colour, with the way it invigorated him, Harry could imagine it was a bit like _Felix Felicis_ , Liquid Luck. Perhaps he could push aside the thoughts of Legolas it had unearthed and focus its powers and the energy it roused within him to his advantage. Taking another deep breath, Harry lifted his gaze confidently to look up at Treebeard and opened his mouth once more.

“I was travelling south along the River Anduin,” he commenced, thinking it best not to mention the Woods of Lothlórien at all with the way Lord Celeborn had warned the Fellowship so harshly of the dangers of Fangorn. “And was camping one night just above the Field of Celebrant when I received a vision from the Valar of the evil taking place in Isengard, or _Angrost_ , or whatever you called it. I saw Saruman the White communicating with Sauron through this weird black giant marble.” Harry waved his hand vaguely as he tried to describe the odd globe object that he knew he had to destroy. He shivered as he was forced to briefly relive the memory of the fiery eye searing into his mind and consciousness. Sauron had seen him, and Harry was already putting himself in danger just by deciding to go near that evil black orb again.

“Anyway,” Harry continued, forcibly pulling his thoughts away from all that was red, burning, and agonisingly painful. “I took up my pack and started making my way to Isengard,” he finished with a shrug and looked back into his bowl blankly. When he looked up again, he saw Treebeard peering down at him oddly.

“You’re not much of a story teller, are you lad?”

Despite himself, Harry chuckled sheepishly in response and shrugged awkwardly. He kicked his feet forcefully against the stone table underneath, feeling rather like a small child in perspective. The perceived confidence he’d rallied before was now gone with the image of Sauron flashing menacingly in the back of his mind’s eye.

Taking a deep breath, Harry forced his next words out with some difficulty. “I haven’t been on this mission for very long. And I admit, I don’t know much about what’s going on in the rest of Middle Earth for reasons I won’t go into. But I do know that there’s a war and that Sauron and Saruman are at the heart of it.

“I may not have much information to share or the flowery language to say it in, but I know that I need to find out everything I can about Saruman if I’m going to be able to defeat him. I’m not asking you to come with me, though it would be helpful,” he mumbled softly, forgetting for a moment the Ent’s excellent hearing. “But you seem to know a great deal about Saruman and what he’s done to these woods and I could really use any information you could give me,” Harry implored humbly, making eye contact with the great Ent as he finished up his little speech. Hermione was always better at this kind of stuff than him, but he hoped his words were at least making some kind of impact. “So, will you tell me? What is going on in Fangorn and what do you know of Saruman?”

Treebeard silently returned Harry’s entreating stare with an unreadable look on his face. Was he just thinking, was he mad at Harry for being so forward and already demanding his help, or was he upset that Harry hadn’t made more of an effort to tell him more of a story? But really, a _story_? This world was in the middle of a war and Treebeard wanted Harry to spin some kind of fantastic saga for, what, entertainment?

Harry’s shoulders slumped imperceptibly as the silence became too much for him. What did he have to do to impress this ent and garner his help? “You must _at least_ be against the Enemy? Why not help the side of the Light?” Harry said, endeavouring to at least have Treebeard declare a side. Surely the Ent could see that much and help Harry even the littlest bit?

“Hoom, hm,” Treebeard hummed in what sounded like a dismissive sound, “I have not troubled with any of the Great Wars as they mostly concern Elves and Men, and that is the business of Wizards, like yourself and Gandalf. Wizards are always troubling themselves with thoughts of the future and keeping balance among the Races of Middle Earth. But I do not like worrying about the future, and I am not altogether on anybody’s _side_ because nobody is altogether on my _side_ , if you understand me. Nobody cares for the woods anymore as I care for them, not even the Elves nowadays.

“Ahroom, hroom,” Treebeard crooned contemplatively, “Still, even now I take more kindly to Elves than to others, as it was the Elves, after all, that cured us of our dumbness long ago, and that was a great gift that cannot be forgotten, though our ways have long since parted, unfortunate though it is. All have since left for the Undying Lands, and none that remain have ever taken the time to come visit the Forest of Fangorn,” Treebeard bemoaned regretfully.

“Though there are, of course,” he continued after a moment, “it must be said, some things whose side I am altogether not on; I am, in fact, against them entirely, these – _burárum_ ,” he rumbled in disgust, “these Orcs and their masters. Set on nothing but destruction and death. They are a foul race that does not belong in this world at all,” he cried with a great grumble.

Well at least they did indeed have a common enemy, Harry thought. Treebeard was very much against the orcs and Saruman, even if the Ent did not wish to worry himself past the fate of his own forest. It wasn't ideal, but perhaps Harry could at least use that to his advantage, somewhat. “Please,” Harry sighed futilely, “Will you at least help me pass through Fangorn safely? I don't know what I could give you, but just name it, and,” Harry trailed off, words completely failing him. He inwardly groaned in his head and cursed the Valar again for good measure.

Treebeard brought up a strong, ropey leathery arm to scratch at the lichen under his chin and cocked his head to the side. “Hrum, hoom, now, Saruman is a neighbour, after all, and I cannot overlook him. I suppose I have often wondered lately what I should do about Saruman.”

“Can you at least tell me a bit about what you know of Saruman?” Harry tried again, wondering if Treebeard was on a roll in his speech and would be more willing to keep going.

Thankfully, luck seemed to be on his side as Treebeard finally nodded and fell back into a contemplative silence, no doubt collecting his thoughts as it seemed Ents did not say anything of import without deep forethought and consideration.

Waiting, somewhat antsy, in anticipation to learn more about the enemy he would soon be facing and ideally vanquishing, Harry greedily gulped down another mouthful of the addicting draught. He relished in the taste, even as the same sensations and feelings returned and reminded him of the one thing he was currently trying to push to the very back of his mind. Legolas. Why was the elf so persistent in being so annoyingly prevalent in his thoughts anyway? Harry had barely spoken to the elf during all his time with the Fellowship; Legolas seemed much more interested in Gimli than Harry. But then again, Legolas had made the genuine offer of friendship only hours before Harry had received his vision from the Valar, so maybe it wasn’t so _very_ odd that the mysterious elf was causing him such disquiet and vexation. Huffing inaudibly in exasperation, Harry pressed his bowl into his lap and turned his attention back to Treebeard, who at last looked ready to speak.

“I fear for Fangorn,” Treebeard began. “The only reason any creatures come in here anymore is to wreak havoc and destruction. Orcs with their fire and their axes,” he cried spiritedly with a snarl, “cutting down trees that were once my friends, many of which had gone silent over the years, but some that were still quick-limbed and talkative. And now they are gone.”

Harry bowed his head in respect, not certain how else to commemorate trees, but it seemed to be good enough for Treebeard thankfully.

“I know not what’s coming, but” Treebeard turned to Harry then and his face seemed to lift from its deep scowl, “you are here now, sent by the Valar no less, on a mission to save Fangorn and Middle Earth, and for that I am more hopeful.”

Harry opened his mouth to argue, knowing he had not said anything about saving Middle Earth, but a hard look from Treebeard silenced him a second later.

“You did not need to say anything. You are an emissary of the Valar, you will do great things for all of Middle Earth, not just Fangorn,” Treebeard stated with such finality that Harry was momentarily struck dumb. That was not the first time he was told he would do something great, but for some reason, this time he wasn't as dubious as he had been at the age of eleven. Perhaps this time he knew without a doubt that Treebeard was right and saw no plausible reason to try and convince him otherwise.

Harry slowly closed his mouth and nodded, but Treebeard continued to stay silent and regard him ponderingly for a very long while after, making Harry inwardly squirm under his stare.

At last, Treebeard’s gaze dropped down and drew contemplative once more. “Saruman, Saruman,” Treebeard mumbled slowly, “Saruman is a Wizard, and I cannot say to know the history of Wizards, perhaps you know more than I have been able to garner over the years. I do know that they appeared first after the Great Ships came over the Sea; but if they came with the Ships I never can tell. Saruman was reckoned to be great among them, I believe, of all the Wizards that came to Middle Earth, that is. He gave up wandering about and minding the affairs of Men and Elves some time ago, though – you would call it a very long time ago, I believe; he finally settled down in Isengard, as you would say.”

Treebeard grew quiet for a moment as he seemed to fall deep into thought, or perhaps deep into memory. “He was rather inconspicuous in the beginning, from what I saw of him over time. But then his fame began to grow when he was chosen to be the head of their Council, or something of that sort; I believe that sounds about right– I don’t know too much about Wizards in general. But I do know that this appointment did not turn out too well for him, or so I heard.” Treebeard frowned deeply and pulled at his beard idly. “I wonder now if that was not when he started turning towards Evil. But I could not tell then, or at least I did not suspect.

“I used to talk to him, Saruman that is; there was a time when he used to come walk in my woods every day,” Treebeard hummed meditatively, his eyes glazed over, “He was polite in those days, always asking my leave, and always eager to listen. I told him many things he would not have found out on his own, but he never repaid me in kind,” Treebeard mused sadly, his eyes downcast into his bowl, completely lost in thoughts of remorse and regret. “I cannot remember if he ever told me anything, always listening, always listening. And he got more and more like that; his face, as I remember it – I have not seen it for many a day – became like windows in a stone wall: windows with shutters inside and nothing more.

“I think I now understand what he is up to,” Treebeard said decidedly, his eyes unclearing from their earlier haze. “He is plotting to become a Power! He has a mind of metal and wheels; and he does not care for growing things, expect as far as they serve him for the moment. And now it is clear that he is a black traitor!” Treebeard ended with a vociferous roar that made the whiskers above his lip tremble visibly. Soon after, though, he seemed to inwardly be berating himself for speaking too hastily again and getting riled up too easily for he fell silent immediately afterwards.

Not wanting to disturb whatever thought process the ent had going when it seemed it was finally turning towards Harry’s benefit, Harry kept silent and waited. He passed the time finishing off the contents of his bowl in slow, savoury sips.

Finally, after several long minutes had passed in stillness, Treebeard began humming long, harmonic notes that once again reminded Harry of the tuning of string instruments. If Harry did not know any better, he would think the ent was calming himself; but again, he couldn’t be too sure about anything when dealing with an entirely different species of magical creature. Eventually, Treebeard started to form words out of the many melodious sounds.

“I suppose I could come along,” Treebeard finally conceded with a tilt of his head. “Saruman does have a lot to answer for, that's for sure, a lot to answer for indeed. And I will have an accounting from him for all the pain he’s caused,” Treebeard declared with a noise of disgruntlement, “the death he’s brought about, and the cursed _burárum_ , these Orcs, he’s commanded into an army to create a new kind of soldier that is more than an Orc.” For the first time ever since Harry had met the ent, he saw Treebeard shiver in what he assumed was disgust, though possibly fear.

“It was a mark of evil things that came in the Great Darkness,” which Harry assumed was Treebeard’s reference to the war, “as orcs cannot abide the Sun; but Saruman’s new creation can endure it, even if they hate it. I wonder what he has done. Are they Men he has ruined, or has he blended the races of Orcs and Men? That would be a black evil, indeed!” Treebeard growled, fisting his hand in a powerful grip on the edge of the table, and narrowing his beady, black eyes in anger.

_Oh_ , Harry thought, feeling only slightly scared, and very much awed by Treebeard’s sudden anger; that was good information to know. That was very good. If only he could find out the real name for these abominations that could be of some use to the rest of the Fellowship.

But Treebeard didn’t stop there. Unfortunately, though, not in any language Harry could understand. Rumbling deeply from the ends of his roots, the ent’s dark, leathery lips poured a string of sounds that were both harsh and melodious at the same time. They were filled with jagged notes, staccato stops, and thundering beats that reverberated around the cave and resonated strikingly in Harry’s ears. As for the strains of humming added in bits and pieces throughout the soliloquy, Harry wasn’t sure if they were part of the language as well or just mellifluous interludes that Treebeard supplemented in simply because he could. They were soothing to hear all the same and Harry just sat back and listened as he waited for Treebeard to switch back to a language Harry knew a little better.

A deep, lengthy, vibrating warble cued the finale to Treebeard’s oration before he shifted to Westron once more. “Some time ago, you see, I began to wonder how Orcs dared to pass through my woods so freely when none had ventured into my borders before. Only lately have I come to the conclusion that Saruman is the one to blame, and that long ago, walking through these woods, he had been _spying_ ,” he spit disgustedly, “and discovering my secrets. And now, he and his foul folk are wreaking havoc, felling trees on the borders –good trees! Some of the trees they just cut down and leave to rot –orc mischief that; but most are hewn up and carried off to feed the fires of Orthanc, where all manner of evil takes place. That is the heart of it all now, the heart of all the evil taking place under Saruman’s watch. There is always smoke rising from Isengard these days,” he growled resentfully, and Harry thought he could see sparks of fire flashing across the Ent’s eyes as he spoke.

“Curse him, root and branch! Curse Saruman the White! Many of those trees were my friends, creatures I had known from nut and acorn; many had voices of their own that are now forever lost. And there are wastes of stump and bramble where once there were singing groves.” Bowing his head, he nodded ruefully and confessed, “I have been idle. I have let things slip...and it must stop!”

Harry felt his whole body tense in anticipation; this was it. This was the apogee where his urging would come to fruition; he just knew it. He waited a moment, not wanting to push his luck until he was absolutely sure of the opportune moment, before venturing, “So you’ll come with me to Isengard then?” Treebeard regarded Harry from beneath his bushy, mossy eyebrows in silent musing. Then, slowly, he nodded his great head, pulling a serious, sombre expression as though he were agreeing to go to war with Harry. But then again, Harry acknowledged, they kind of were.

“Thank you,” Harry intoned just as sombrely, respecting Treebeard’s somewhat hasty commitment, despite all his protests against doing such things. “When can we leave?”

“Harum, toom, rum, toom, room, toom, toom. I know it might be hasty,” Treebeard declared, the steel look in his eyes having not lessened in the slightest, “but I feel this anger for Saruman burning from the roots in my toes to the leaves on my head. And there is no time like the present to start walking, and it is a very long walk, even for an Ent.”

“Excellent,” Harry cried excitedly, pumping his fist in celebration as a wide, satisfied smile spread across his face. That had gone much better than he’d hoped. Not wanting to waste a second or to let Treebeard calm down and come to second-guess his hasty actions, Harry leapt down from the table and hurried over to where his pack lay a few feet away from where he had woken up hours ago. He stuck his hand inside and dug around for his canteen, intent on filling it up with that Ent-draught for the long days of hiking ahead. Despite its odd side effects, he couldn't deny that it was filling and energising; just what he needed for a long journey – when his hand brushed against the leather casing of his map.

His hand paused. He hadn’t looked at it since his third night in Fangorn, when he realised it wasn’t going to show him anything more than it had when he was outside the forest, which was absolutely nothing. The hazy cloud still covered this part of the map and no amount of magic was changing that. But that didn’t mean he still shouldn’t be checking up on the Fellowship and keeping an eye on their progress. Hopefully they were not still vainly trying to follow him, though Harry doubted he would be so lucky.

Unrolling the leather and parchment, Harry was pleased to see the spells he had cast before still at work, the magic of the map having most likely absorbed them in. His hands immediately went to feel the jagged crests of the mountains, the silk-like coolness of the rivers, and rough patches of the plains. When he was done admiring his map once more, having surprisingly come to favour it more than that of the Marauders’, Harry turned to look for the familiar clump of dots of the Fellowship.

He found them. They were still on the plains heading almost parallel to Harry, though more to the east, in the direction of Rohan. As soon as Harry’s finger fell upon Legolas’ name, the elf’s handsome visage came unbidden to his mind’s eye once more. Closing his eyes and shaking that thought away – he still wasn’t sure how he was going to deal with all this – he opened them again to start scanning the area surrounding the Company to ensure they were still safe, if a little off course.

And that’s when he saw it. A large mass was coming from the south, bearing north, and heading straight for the Fellowship. The label above it read, ‘Uruk-hai’.

Something in his gut told him that this was the name of Saruman’s new creation. He had seen it before, but either this was a different group, or they had changed course for some reason and now had the Fellowship in their sights.

“Oh shit.”

Mind working frantically, Harry’s fingers started fumbling to unsheathe his wand from his pocket. Closing his eyes, he held onto a happy memory, concentrating on the moment he’d spent with his friends, hidden from the crowds, mere hours after Harry had finally sent Voldemort to the Ninth Circle of Hell. He went through the wand movements and incantation to produce another Patronus. But instead of Prongs appearing as expected, the familiar jolt of magic went through him and he found himself instead looking right at the Fellowship. Well, Aragorn and Legolas at least.

The two were assumedly leading the rest of the Fellowship across the grassy plains and had their heads bent together slightly in a little tête-à-tête, while their eyes remained watchful of their surroundings.

The feeling was a bit like being pulled into a Pensieve, and it took a moment for the sounds to come into clarity and for Harry to adjust to the range of sight, which was centralised with an extraordinary precision on the two tall males. His mind quickly put together the recent casting of the Patronus, the fact that the last time he’d done so was to send Prongs to convey his farewell message to the Fellowship, and his somewhat blurry, brief dreams of watching the Fellowship that sometimes seemed too real to be mere fantasy. Especially as he experienced them without fully falling asleep half the time. Really, there was only possible conclusion he could come up with, as odd and impossible as it might be. Prongs had never faded; the spell was still active.

Huh.

Inwardly shaking his head to put the puzzle away for another time when his companions weren’t in peril, Harry strengthened his connection to the spell and shouted, “Guys! Warning! Group of Uruk-hai coming your way from the south! Watch out!”

. … . …. .. …. .. …. . … .

_Twang_! Legolas’ bow sang as he fired another arrow at one of the hideous behemoths of a creature that seemed to be some variant of orc, only bigger, stronger, tougher, and, unfortunately, smarter. Harry’s warning through Ithildin had come mere minutes before Legolas had caught sight of the Uruk-hai coming towards them, running at top speed across the plains, in broad daylight! And without slowing down in the slightest, as if the whips of both Sauron and Saruman combined were striking at their heels!

That had been his first clue that something was not right.

Legolas had immediately sent up the alert to the rest of the Fellowship and began to prepare for battle. The few minutes it took for the rest of the Fellowship to catch sight of the incoming army had been tense, with everyone alternately gripping their weapons and scanning their eyes warily on the deserted plains before them. But Legolas never lost sight of their target and only he could vigilantly watch the overwhelming numbers of their incoming enemy with a healthy amount of fear for his compatriots. As best as Legolas could surmise, they were outnumbered by at least ten to one.

As an elf, Legolas usually preferred firing arrows from a distance, hidden in the cover of his beloved trees; being away from the cover of the trees, exposed out in the open, was almost as disconcerting as being cooped up in a stuffy, dark cave with no open air. Unfortunately, he didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter, and this wasn’t some practice simulation; the Fellowships’ lives were in serious danger, as well as the fate of the One Ring.

Not one to wait until the enemy could utilise their full advantage, Legolas did not hesitate in firing the moment the creatures were in range of his long bow. The winds themselves aided his arrows to their query and Legolas felt the blessing of Tulkas, the Champion of the Valinor himself, as he continued to shoot in quick succession with his beautiful Lórien made long-bow, each arrow hitting its mark with a fatal blow. With a piercing whistle followed by a dull thud, Uruk-hai dropped to their knees with arrows sticking out from the centre of their hearts, while more yet were forcibly stopped in their tracks and fell hard like trees struck by lightning, and didn’t get up, their comrades ploughing over them without missing a beat.

Other than the sound of pounding feet and the harsh grunts and pants of the enemy, all else was silent except for Legolas’ shooting. Tension continued to silently mount and build palpably in the air until the presence of battle was fully upon them.

Keeping up a silent count in his head, Legolas was able to take out the entirety of the Uruk-hai’s front, cutting the mass down to almost half of its original size. But as the Uruk-hai moved into closer range, Legolas was forced to sling his bow to his back and unsheathe his long white dagger at his belt.

The Uruk-hai sent up a guttural rallying cry, weapons raised high in the air, ready to cleave down upon the Fellowship. And then all too soon, the two sides collided and clashed together in battle. Steel kissing steel, rending flesh, and slaughtering foes with the vim and vigour of war. The fight was underway and the Uruk-hai were bludgeoning their way through, flesh wounds having little impact on them as they seemed to not even register pain.

Nearby, Legolas could see that Aragorn was spilling blood and broadly swinging Andúril with the strength and assurance of a ranger and future king. In the midst of a fight, it was easy to see why his enemies feared him so; his face held no sign of trepidation or uncertainty, only a fierce confidence and strength as he smote and slashed at his opponents with precision and power.

Stabbing into the heart of one creature that had gotten too close, Legolas checked in his periphery to see how his other friends were fairing.

Behind Legolas, Boromir and Gimli were covering the hobbits, trying to take out anything that came too close before any nasty creature could even touch the Ringbearer, but it seemed that Frodo had other ideas and was giving Sting the taste of enemy blood as well from under Boromir’s reach. If not enough to kill, at least enough to wound and hold the nastier ones off until Gimli or Boromir were free again to help. Normally Frodo’s successful blows to the creatures’ arms and legs would at least seriously injure, but as they quickly learned, this was just another unfortunate difference between orcs and these over-charged, amplified mutants. With the exception of Legolas’ arrows, nothing short of chopping off these foul beings’ heads had come even close to slowing them down, let alone killing them.

An Uruk-hai grunted to the left of Legolas, and then let out a strangled roar as Legolas stuck it in the stomach and twisted up to slice at the beast’s heart. Blood splattered onto his hand and front, but Legolas paid it no mind, already pivoting and concentrating on the next two closest opponents that sneered at him, showing rotted teeth and black tongues.

He wouldn't let anyone die here, Legolas vowed as he met the creatures, blade for blade, waiting for the advantage when he could strike the killing blow. He still needed to find Harry and these dark minions of Saruman weren’t going to deter him from that goal.

Feeling a new sense of determination and need to smite his enemies where they stood, Legolas’ breathing began to slow and his senses to heighten even further. His entire being was now focused on the dance of his footwork in response to the movement of his enemies and his long dagger acting as an extension of his arm as he slew, stabbed, lunged, parried, and trapped each beast, into an ineluctable defeat every time.

He felt no pain, nor fear from his enemies, neither did he allow himself to be distracted by the prospect of defeat as he fell into the _Trance of Battle_. Nothing else existed around him but the obstacles of his foe that needed to be conquered. Lost in the elven spell of engagement, Legolas failed to even notice the glow he began to give off in his meditative state. If he had he would have recognised it as a blessing from the Valar, protecting one of their children in combat as he fought for his life and those of his friends. With this gift, Legolas was progressively diminishing their ranks with all the swiftness and grace of his heritage.

Legolas’ world had narrowed down to the immediate space around him, and consequently failed to notice when Ithildin, standing just outside the ring of battle, began to shine brighter than normal in response to Legolas’ glow.

As Legolas ran through another Uruk-Hai, stabbing right at its heart, Ithildin began charging into the battle. It butted its long antlers right into the swarm of grey skinned, disfigured creatures, all bearing the white handprint of Saruman on their chests and faces. Several went flying into the air and into their fellow warriors. And while it didn’t kill them, it was successful in slowing them down and confusing the pack for several moments.

These Uruk-hai were nothing if not single minded and determined, however. They quickly set about attacking the brightly glowing stag, only to find their swords, knives and axes going straight through the animal as though it were no more than a ghost. To the dismay of the Uruk-hai, unlike an apparition, Ithildin was solid in his assaults and dogged in his determination to plough away at their ranks without pause.

Further back, slowly but surely, Aragorn was closing the gap between himself and Legolas. Legolas was taking out the monsters as fast as they were coming at him. And like Gimli and Boromir who stood back-to-back with the hobbits between them, Ithildin was now fighting at Legolas’ elbow. They were simultaneously hyperaware of each other’s movements and blind to the other’s presence, acting as a single unit without conscious thought.

Between Ithildin’s powerful thrusts, Legolas’ unearthly strength, Aragorn’s Flame of the West, Gimli’s double-bladed axe, and Boromir’s hand-and-a-half sword and shield, the group was steadily cutting down the Uruk-hai’s numbers. But there were still a good twenty or so left. And the distance between the Fellowship, having been separated during the battle, was still too wide.

Suddenly, a gruff cry rent the air, breaking Legolas from his trance as he dispatched the beast before him. He turned to see Gimli on his knees in front of Frodo with a grimace of pain on his face and a broad sword sticking out of his broad chest, just below his heart. Still, the dwarf continued to fight valiantly, holding his own sword up in front of him and keeping his opponent from finishing him off. The strain was beginning to show as Gimli’s arm shook, and it didn’t look like he would last much longer if not for his dwarven stubbornness.

Legolas whipped out his bow and arrow once more. _Twang_!

The Uruk-hai that had been advancing on Gimli from the side suddenly keeled forward with an elven arrow sticking out of his eye.

Legolas rushed towards his friend, cutting down all those in his path as he hurried forward to aid the dwarf.

So focused was he on Gimli that he failed to see an Uruk-hai push forward into the opening Gimli had left. With a swiftness no one could have expected, the beast grabbed Frodo and Sam and heaved them over his shoulders before turning around and running back in the direction they had come.

Seeing his fellow warrior’s success and noting the tall, blonde haired man as the only obstacle left to the last two Halflings, three more Uruk-hai swept forward. Before Legolas could reach the group, one grabbed Merry and Pippin, while the other two engaged Boromir in a close-range fight.

The remaining five Uruk-hai sounded the retreat then and began sprinting across the plains, back towards Isengard with their captives in tow.

Legolas arrived just in time to take out the last two attackers with a powerful swing of his dagger before they could deal the final killing blow to Boromir. Two disfigured heads landed with twin thuds on the grass just as Legolas’ entire body seized up and froze.

The glow of his skin dimmed drastically, and his every limb suddenly felt like it was made of lead. The spell of the Trance had ended and with it came an overwhelming wave of dizziness and exhaustion.

The world around him grew hazy and tilted on its side before everything went black.

  
. … . …. .. …. .. …. . … .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, that was the last one for now until I edit the next few chapters again. Hopefully more to post in the coming days. 
> 
> Sorry for the cliff-hanger!


	17. The Awakening

Through the eyes of his Patronus, Prongs, Harry watched, in horror, the battle unfolding before him. On four legs, he stood completely transfixed and utterly helpless as the Uruk-hai army overwhelmed the Fellowship in droves.

Of course, Harry had been in battle before, under the barrage of spell fire. Wizarding wars tested one’s ability to dodge the Unforgivables and other nasty spells, while also making sure you gave as good as you got. The basic rules were the same; get them before they get you.

Still, this...this was different.

Firing spells and dodging curses was all well and good. But beyond a particularly strong, hardy _Protego_ , how would he defend himself _here_ from an enemy wielding a massive blade, set on rending his head in two? Harry didn’t know how to heft an axe, shoot an arrow, or cleave a body with a swing of a broad sword. Yes, he had killed a giant snake with one once, but that had hardly counted as skill.

So even if he was present in a somewhat bodily form, he wasn’t sure how much help he could be. That didn’t even take into account the fact that his current body was a magically created animal of sorts. In other words, no hands, no ability to stand upright and look his enemy in the eye, let alone hold a wand or any kind of heavy, clunking metal weaponry. He wasn’t even sure if he could perform any spell work, or if Prongs was merely a lens to look through and nothing more.

He felt like no more than a ghost, forced into the role of observer. And it was killing him! He needed to do _something_. Anything was better than standing like a statue, watching his friends be overtaken by ugly, hairless, vicious looking sasquatches.

Worse still! Against his better judgement, Harry’s gaze continued to be drawn to the blonde-haired elf in the thick of it all.

Only an hour had passed since his unexpected, infatuated musings. And despite his attempts to push them deep down into the dark recesses of his mind, they had instead continued to percolate without his consent, or any conscious thought. Now, as he watched helplessly, he was overtaken by strange feelings of… curiosity, caring, and an odd, nascent sense of needing to protect the elf.

Harry watched, transfixed, as Legolas seemed to literally dance with his blade in hand, cutting down enemies like they were no more than shadows blocking his light. Legolas fought with unparalleled grace, slaying several opponents at a time in a matter of seconds, all without even the slightest appearance of pain or strain on his face.

A steely calmness had stolen over Legolas. And nothing managed to get near him without falling prey to his long knife. He didn’t hack and haw like Aragorn, Boromir, or Gimli, but he danced, pitted, parried, and lunged with such a decisiveness as to turn every movement of his adversaries against them like it was mere child’s play. It was altogether awe-inspiring, fantastic, intimidating, and at once extremely heartening to watch.

And for all that Harry still worried.

He worried and admired, unable to ignore the spike of desire he felt as he watched. A stronger appreciation of Legolas’ skill and prowess grew in his mind. Something solidified, if just a tad, within in him. And he felt a very subtle shift take place in his heart, if not yet his mind. Nothing he had time to acknowledge at the moment, but it was there, nonetheless.

Now, more than ever, though, Harry felt a burning need to be at Legolas’ side, at his back, fighting with him. And, his mind could reason, if not for Legolas’ sake, then for Frodo and the hobbits.

That was when Legolas started to glow.

A golden aura seeped up from his skin and surrounded his body as he fought. None the wiser to his new fulgent luminescence, even as it caused his enemies to do a double-take and falter in their steps. Even Harry had to blink several times to check that he was not hallucinating.

Now mesmerized by both the light and Legolas’ endless dance in battle, Harry could feel his own magic begin to respond. An angry righteousness tempered by a fiery determination to help spread through him with all the power of an extra strength _Pepper-Up Potion._

With a jolt, Prongs jumped into action and sprang into the heat of combat head first; quite literally. Acting on instinct, he butted his way through the throng, antlers charging, with a merry sort of abandonment and sense of invincibility.

Channelling his magic to strengthen Prongs’ form, he tore through every foe in his path, making a beeline to Legolas. Uruk-hai went flying through the air, crashing into each other in his wake. Even as the beasts attempted to swipe at his sides with their meaty hands, or hew and haw with their swords, he remained untouchable. No longer a ghost, but a poltergeist causing all the harm he pleased with nothing able to touch him in turn.

But even as he continued to winnow out a good handful of Saruman’s soldiers with Legolas at his side, the Fellowship were still outnumbered. And with each powerful blow he laid on the Uruk-hai, especially the ones that did more than just send them flying, Harry could feel his hold on Prongs begin to wane. Little bit by tiny bit.

Just when they were close to making the numbers more even, a gruff cry rent the air. It cut through the din of battle like an old wartime bugle.

Without even looking, he knew who it was.

Harry watched as Legolas turned towards the noise. The blank expression wiped from his face, quickly replaced with a look of horror. His glow dimmed in reaction as he dispatched the beast before him and swivelled around to face his friends.

And just as the spell broke over Legolas, Harry’s own hold on his Patronus vanished, his vision going black along with it.

A second later, Harry felt like he was travelling several hundred miles via Floo, before his entire body was thrown back against the moist, mossy stone wall of Treebeard’s cave with a muffled thud.

The back of his head hit the solid surface and stars burst colourfully in front of his eyes. He lay there in shock for several seconds before he was able to shake them away and push himself up to sit.

“Legolas,” he breathed out desperately, barely registering the use of his own vocal cords as he crawled his way back toward the map. Rubbing the back of his head with one hand, he pushed the fingers of his other hand up into the pressure points at the inner corners of his eyebrows and squeezed his eyes shut. After a few moments, he managed to push the pain back far enough to open his eyes.

Pulling the parchment closer, he scanned the map desperately for that stretch of land labelled the Wold and felt his heart stop at what he saw playing out in front of him.

Gimli, Boromir, and Legolas were all standing close together in a small circle, motionless dots on the great expanse of smooth fields. Little more than a few finger lengths away stood Aragorn, chasing away the last five Uruk-hai. Then even further away, almost a hand’s length on the map, two Uruk-hai were hurrying away with four more dots in tow. Merry, Pippin, Sam, and Frodo.

The monsters had taken the hobbits! And they were heading back towards Isengard.

“Aargh!” Harry cried, balling his fists and slamming them on the ground with enough force to nearly dislocate a few fingers. His scream reverberated off the walls and ceiling of the enclosed cave, echoing back to him tenfold his own pain and frustration.

He had failed Frodo, Legolas, and the entire Fellowship. The hobbits had been captured, three of the Company were apparently incapacitated from the fight with the Uruk-hai, and the Ring was about to be placed right into the Enemy’s hands.

Harry took several deep breaths, feeling even more helpless and useless than he had at the edge of the battle moments before. And then he remembered. Prongs!

He could just cast his Patronus again and follow the Uruk-hai. Or maybe even help Legolas and the others who were injured so they could get back on their feet and chase after the hobbits. He prayed to whatever deities were out there that none of them were dead. He did not think Legolas had been in any harm, but then why was the elf lying motionless on the ground when he should be trying to rescue the hobbits from the disgusting clutches of Uruk-hai, who were obviously heading to their master Saruman?

Closing his eyes, he focused on building up the magic he needed to cast the Patronus. And then tried desperately to clear his mind and allow for a happy memory to surface in his panic-addled brain.

He finally latched onto the well-used bittersweet moment of when Sirius offered him a place to live as they walked the tunnel below the Whomping Willow. Harry brought his wand down in a great swoosh and cried out, “ _Expecto Patronum_!”

A faint, misty fog surrounded him for a moment, briefly taking the crude form of a four-legged animal, before completely dissipating.

Harry slumped forward and gripped his already aching head in his hands. His wand pressed uncomfortably against the side of his face as he gulped in great breaths, feeling like he’d just run several miles. He could not remember feeling this magically exhausted since his last serious stay at the Hospital Wing under Madam Pomfrey’s care.

He immediately realised where he’d gone wrong. The battle had already drained him beyond belief; so logically, he shouldn’t have even tried casting that spell. And yet what choice did he have!?

Weakly banging his fists on the cave floor, Harry squeezed his eyes shut and let loose another violent cry. He had failed, he had failed, he had failed.

“Now, now, lad, no need for anymore of this yelling,” Treebeard chided. “You’ll scare the trees, and you don’t want to be doing that, I say.”

Somehow, Treebeard’s soothing, throaty warnings managed to penetrate the dark fog around Harry’s mind. He raised his head to look up at the ent, who had drawn nearer to Harry with what one could assume was a flabbergasted expression for a tree.

“A hrum, hrum, hrum, that was some magic you did just now,” Treebeard declared, bending his knees to peer down at Harry, “though I didn’t see much other than you standing there frozen. But I felt it. Oh, I certainly felt it in every inch of my bark and every quiver of the leaves on my head. How odd. How very, very odd you are, young warrior. Very different from Gandalf and Saruman indeed, but not so very different all the same,” Treebeard shook his head and hummed deeply once more. “But what is it exactly, if I may ask, has gotten your roots in such a knot?” he exclaimed.

Sighing in defeat, Harry slumped into the wall, his fingers letting go of the map and allowing it to roll itself back up at his knee. Pushing through the lump in his throat, Harry grumbled darkly. “The Uruk-hai - Saruman’s new creation you were talking about - they hurt my friends and now they have the hobbits.”

“Hobbits,” Treebeard commented with a long, thoughtful hum. “What is a hobbit,” he asked slowly as though trying the foreign word on his tongue and finding himself undecided on its taste.

Harry shook his head, “I don’t really know. A little person, Shire folk,” he said distractedly, recalling fleetingly the terms Merry and Pippin had used to explain themselves to him so many weeks ago.

“I’ve never heard of a hobbit before,” Treebeard enounced. “I have been in this world a very, very, very long time, but a hobbit has never crossed the borders of Fangorn before. No indeed. Not to my knowledge. And I have all the knowledge of this forest, as I am its lord and overseer of all of Fangorn. Never heard of a hobbit, though,” he muttered, “never heard of a hobbit ever before,” he repeated, shaking his head in consternation.

“It doesn't matter!” Harry cried, no longer having any patience for the old ent and his long-winded style of rhetoric. Standing up abruptly, he spread his arms and shook them in vexation. “My friends are in trouble and the Enemy is about to have its hands on something very important that could end this entire war into the blink of an eye! And whether you want to choose a side or not won’t matter when your entire forest is completely burnt down and decimated along with the rest of Middle Earth!

“So it doesn’t matter if you’ve heard of them or not! One of those hobbits holds the fate of this world in his very hands and I need to save him! I’m leaving to find Saruman and take him down before the Uruk-hai reach Isengard. Are you coming or not?”

Treebeard blinked owlishly for several long moments. He eyed Harry with an unreadable look as Harry raggedly caught his breath, still feeling the strain from both his verbal outburst and recent magical exertion.

But he didn’t have time to rest. He barely had time to securely recruit Treebeard to his cause. The Fellowship were in trouble and his mission to Isengard had just become all the more essential.

Time was of the essence and he needed to make sure he reached Saruman before the Uruk-hai did. He would defeat that aged wizard before Saruman saw even one hair on a single hobbit’s head.

Otherwise, everything truly would be lost.

Luck would seem to be with him for the moment, as Harry watched the ent’s features harden in resolve. His eyes gleamed with an inner spark, and when he spoke, his voice seemed to boom from the cave and echo out into the forest itself. “Saruman has not won yet. Come, wizard who is not an Istar! We head off to battle.”

Harry did not need to be told twice.

Grabbing his bag, he repacked it and filled up his canteen with the Ent draught in record time. He chanced a small sip before he corked it, feeling the ache in his head ease away and a bit of energy return to his body. He knew he needed to be as prepared as possible before reaching Isengard; and going into another battle magically and physically drained was not a good idea.

Shouldering his pack, he gestured for Treebeard to lead the way.

And with one long stride, ducking under the waterfall and out of the cave, Harry felt his nerves steel and his mind harden with one thought.

They were marching off to war.

  
. … . …. .. …. . …. .. …. . … .

  
Legolas awoke slowly to an annoying stiffness in his limbs.

Dizzy and somewhat disoriented, he pushed himself up into a sitting position, momentarily surprised to find himself surrounded by tall stalks of grass. He closed his eyes again and breathed deeply, willing away the light-headedness and gathering strength back into his body. All the while, mentally calling on his last memory to determine what had happened.

Legolas sensed Aragorn coming to kneel beside him. His old friend placed a steadying hand on his back while asking after his health and pestering him to be specific in a way only the son of a healer could.

“I am fine,” Legolas replied distractedly, waving his friend’s worries away with a flick of his hand. “What happened?” His eye clearing of the haze that surrounded them as the memories of the battle returned to the forefront of his mind. “Gimli! Boromir! And Frodo! Please tell me my eyes were deceived and that the hobbits were not taken from our keep!?”

Aragorn’s bowed his head, telling Legolas all he needed to know. Yet the Ranger answered nonetheless, his face obscured by a curtain of greasy hair shielding his eyes and concealing the look of guilt from his elven companion. “Gimli and Boromir were both gravely injured before passing out, and as soon as you were out of your trance -”

“My trance?” Legolas interjected.

“You were in an elven Battle Trance,” Aragorn answered. “I am not all that surprised you were unaware of it. It drained you of your energy and you passed out soon after Gimli and Boromir.”

“A Battle Trance,” Legolas breathed in awe. He had heard of those and had even had the rare opportunity to see his own father fall into the grips of one when their homeland had been overrun with evil. A shadow of Sauron had had the audacity to creep into Thranduil’s Cavern Halls, and all the elves of Mirkwood had gone out to fight and defend the Woodlands. But none had fought so valiantly, or so viciously, as the King himself. He had attacked the enemy like a demon possessed, and his entire body had glowed with an inner light that was as bright as the most radiant star.

Legolas had not seen its equivalent since. Yet Aragorn declared him to have gone into one of these very trances, blessed by the Valar themselves.

Yet if that were true, why had they lost? He, Legolas, should have been an unbeatable force. Then why had he stopped? Why had he fallen into rest before saving Frodo and his companions?

“But -”

“Gimli broke the Trance,” Aragorn continued, overriding Legolas’ unspoken question. “You came running to his and the hobbits’ aid, but it was already too late. I saw the three of you black out, and by the time I had dispatched the last group of stragglers, the group of Uruk-hai were already too far ahead, beyond my sight, with the hobbits in their hold. I could not overtake them on my own and hope to live, let alone save any of the hobbits. My own strength was weakened, and my friends lay unmoving on the ground from serious injury or death, of which I knew not.

“Seeing that my options were poor, I thought it better to stay with you three and try to save Gimli and Boromir, as well as allow you your rest so we could be three stronger in chasing down the Uruk-hai and saving the hobbits before their party reaches Isengard.”

“Isengard,” Legolas gasped. “You are sure that is the direction they took? Not to Barad-dûr, straight to Sauron, or even to Minas Morgul? Why would they go to Saruman first?”

“Because, master elf, they are Saruman’s creations,” Gimli’s brusque, albeit fainter than normal voice came from behind, spurring Legolas to turn in surprise. Launching forward, he engulfed his shorter friend in a hug of camaraderie, as well as a bit of support, as Gimli was somewhat weak from the effort of sitting up.

“I am overjoyed you are well, Gimli. When I heard your cry, I feared the very worst,” he proclaimed, beaming in relief to see his friend up and about as a result of Aragorn’s expert care.

The dwarf huffed indignantly at that and pushed Legolas’ steadying hand away as though the appendage itself were a wound to his pride. “It takes more than just a little cut to keep a dwarf down,” he swore.

Legolas’ eyes bugged in his head in disbelief as he voiced, “It was a broad sword that had pierced you clean through!” Shaking his head incredulously, Legolas conceded, “It seems that dwarves are indeed made of much tougher substance than I had surmised. Then again, you are not just any dwarf as I have ever met; a fact which I have already come to apprehend through our short time together.”

Gimli blustered for a bit, blushing ruddily under his red beard before replying, “Well, we dwarves hold to a tougher principle than elves at any rate.”

Legolas let a small, amused smile flash fleetingly across his face, which he managed to hide just as quickly before Gimli caught it. Taking pity on the dwarf, Legolas turned back to Aragorn and asked, “What of Boromir,” while looking around for the Gondorian captain. But he saw only what had survived of their supplies and endless fields of golden plains. The dark-haired man was nowhere to be seen.

“He recovered the quickest, and was swiftly on his feet once more, deciding to scout ahead and start on the hobbits’ trail while I finished tending to you and Gimli,” Aragorn answered, quickly alleviating the fear and dread that had overtaken Legolas at not seeing the other man.

Breathing out a sigh of relief, Legolas nodded and began to stand when he remembered another missing member of their Company. “And what of Ithildin?” The bright silvery animal was nowhere to be seen either. “Did he go on with Boromir?” Legolas asked. Even as he spoke he negated the possibility, as Ithildin had not strayed from Legolas’ side since the elf had discovered him the morning after Harry had left. It did not make sense that the magical creature would choose to leave him now when he was so incapacitated after the effects of the Trance. The only possible thought was....

“He disappeared; the magic Harry left in him was likely expended in the battle. In fact, if I did not know better,” Aragorn trailed off, shaking his head as though trying to recover from a strange, impossible idea.

“What?” Legolas insisted, feeling a deeper loss settle in his mind and soul at Ithildin’s disappearance. “What have you conjectured?”

Aragorn took a breath and opened his mouth, but no sound issued forth for several long seconds. Finally, looking off into the distance at a scene playing out in his recent memory, Aragorn spoke, “He glowed the same as you, with the same brightness and hue, as though reflecting your light.

“He fought the Uruk-hai with the same ferocity, using his horns as adeptly as any sword. And the beasts could not touch him! He was a mere ghost to their blades, but his antlers were like the sharpest knives to them, cutting down their numbers as good as the rest of us were accomplishing. That was a blessing in itself, as he helped turn the tide of the battle, giving me hope that between the two of you we might be able to win and overcome our enemy yet.

“But it was not to be.” Aragorn shook his head again and turned back to where Gimli and Legolas were staring at him in consternation. “I know not for sure, but he seemed to be connected to you in some way, responding to your elven magic. And when your Trance was broken, so was Harry’s spell.

“Another explanation I cannot offer,” the Ranger finished with a shrug.

“Hrmph,” Gimli grunted after a long moment of stunned silence. His brows furrowed and a deep frown marred his face, one which had nothing to do with the pain from his wound. “Perhaps there is more to that Prophecy of yours after all, master elf.”

Legolas kept his eyes down, trained on his thin boots that were now lightly flecked with black blood from the battle. His thoughts were not on the state of his dress, however, but on Aragorn and Gimli’s words.

The loss of Ithildin was steep in his heart, as it reflected the loss of his connection to Harry in the wizard’s absence. And yet, it heartened Legolas to think that the bond between Warrior and Companion could already be forming. That perhaps his initial rejection of Harry had not destroyed all possible chances of Harry ever accepting him as his Companion. That despite all the difficulties that had belayed them thus far, there was still hope.

Nodding with further determination and acceptance of the task that lay ahead of him, Legolas lifted his gaze to see Aragorn watching him steadily. He gave his friend a nod of gratitude and a small smile.

Aragorn took that as his cue to move on. Clapping his hands on his knees, he pushed himself up to stand once more. “Now that you are both awake, we can move on and begin the hunt. Hopefully we shall be able to catch up to Boromir by nightfall. That is,” he paused, “if you both feel up to the task.”

The slight quirk of the Ranger’s lips let Legolas know that his friend was purposefully goading them. But even that knowledge did not temper the quick flash of irritation Legolas felt in response. In less than a second, he was on his feet and strapping his pack to his back.

“I do not know about the dwarf, but an elf is always ready at a moment’s notice,” he replied with an easy grin, gleefully adding to Gimli’s irascibility.

“Well a dwarf doesn’t even need a moment,” Gimli retorted loudly as he too climbed to his feet, a bit unsteadily, and reached for his lightened pack. They would carry only that which was strictly necessary so as to allow them to be swifter on their feet and quicker in overcoming the band of Uruk-hai.

Aragorn watched the interaction with a triumphant and amused grin before turning to them both. “Technically neither of you are in any state to be moving so quickly,” he said in his healer’s voice. He noted the light pallor of Gimli’s skin and nodded to the dwarf’s bandaged torso. Even Legolas was not as steady on his feet, something only the eyes of a friend and one of Númenorian blood could discern, evident in Legolas’ white-knuckled grip and slightly heavier than normal breathing.

Aragorn frowned seriously, adding, “And if we were not in the middle of a war right now with the fate of the world in our hands, I would have you both strapped to a pair of beds by your own sword buckles.

“But alas! That is an impossibility at the moment, so I will only demand that you exercise caution as much as possible. We will need you both when we finally overtake the creatures. So let us pray to the Valar for swift feet and strong hearts.”

Legolas and Gimli nodded solemnly, if somewhat indignantly, in response, having no further words to expend in jest or otherwise.

Aragorn smiled grimly. He cast a look over his shoulder, where the bodies of the Uruk-hai still lay scattered across the plains where they’d fallen. He had neither the time nor the inclination to properly dispose of the bodies, even as their stench was overwhelming.

There would be more bodies marring these plains within the coming days, he silently vowed.

Turning in the direction the hobbits had been taken, he cried, “Then let us be off.”

And so, the chase began.

  
. … . …. .. …. . …. .. …. . … .

  
Apparently, it was a very long walk from Treebeard’s den to the borders of Isengard. Between his map and Treebeard’s reckoning, it would take them at least three days to reach the outer rim of Saruman’s realm, if they did not stop to rest.

But neither ent nor wizard complained. The fires in their cores were not dampened in the slightest, nor were their long, determined strides broken.

Well, Treebeard’s pace was not broken, at least. Small copses of trees would move fluidly out of his way as he marched, sensing the Lord of Fangorn’s anger and making room as needed. Harry, though, was eventually forced to ride atop Treebeard’s shoulder, lest he be left behind by the ent’s long legs and swift gait.

Not an hour into their journey, it soon became evident that Treebeard was not as amenable to silence as one would expect from a lord of a forest. At least not when there was a story to be told or old memories to be unearthed. Now knowing Harry to be a less-than-stellar storyteller, Treebeard took it upon himself to divert both their attentions with stories of the forest.

He told tales of his visits with Gandalf and some of Saruman, as well as the mysterious disappearance of the Ent wives. And despite himself - never one to enjoy history - Harry found he was intrigued by these accounts and all the small details he was learning of Middle Earth, both ancient and a bit more recent. And though his worry for Frodo and the Fellowship did not abate, he found the anecdotes a good distraction for their journey.

Of course, that did not stay his hand from constantly checking the map and the state of the group every hour or so. He was somewhat relieved when he saw Boromir begin to move and chase after the hobbits. That hopefully meant the other three were not far behind. He rationalised that if Gimli’s dot was still on the map, unmoving though it was, he could not be dead.

Unfortunately, it was another full day before he saw progress from the rest of the Company. But finally, _finally_ , he saw Legolas had awoken. And out in the middle of an abandoned forest, having not stopped for rest, only napping sporadically atop Treebeard’s shoulder, Harry did little to hide the happy smile that relaxed his face and lifted his spirits.

Legolas’ dot, along with Aragorn’s and Gimli’s, had started to advance towards Isengard.

They were still several days behind the hobbits - whose group was still moving alarmingly fast - but it was improvement. More importantly, they were all travelling to the same destination now.

Harry vowed he would have Saruman defeated before the hobbits or any of the Company made it into Isengard. And then they could all set out from there with one less enemy to worry about.

As Harry made plans in his head for how he was going to defeat an ancient wizard, who was likely more dangerous than Dumbledore and Voldemort combined, Treebeard continued his soliloquy.

The ent preferred to tell his tales through songs and chants, modulating in that deep, woodwind-like voice. Fortunately, his words took less time being sung than spoken. And Harry found, during their time together, that he quite enjoyed those soothing chants.

It was close to nightfall the second day of their journey when Treebeard started a lengthy description of the days when the forests ruled the lands and all manner of creation. Men, Elf, and Dwarf, all showed greater respect for what the forests had to give and what the forests knew. “Those were the days, those were the days, indeed. Hoom, hmmm! Time was when I could walk and sing all day. When the woods were like the woods of Lothlórien, only thicker, stronger, and younger. Oh, the smell in the air!” he cried. “I used to spend a week just breathing,” he ended with a sigh.

Harry clung to the odd branch sticking up between Treebeard’s shoulder and head, giving him something to hold onto and rest against when possible. But this time, he wrapped his fingers around the stump to hold himself steady as he leaned forward, hoping to get a good look at Treebeard’s face. It would not be the first time the old ent had fallen asleep while walking, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

However, before he could get a good look, Treebeard seemed to perk up and begin chanting yet another ballad.

Unlike the other 20 or so he’d heard thus far, this one held Harry’s attention. Perhaps it was the solemnity of Treebeard’s tone or the feeling of sanctity that fell upon the forest. But without being able to say for certain, Harry was overcome by the notion that Treebeard was consecrating the very ground they walked on with his words. And the whole of the forest was leaning in to listen.

_In the willow-meads of Tasarinan I walked in the Spring._  
_Ah! the sight and the smell of the Spring in Nan-tasarion!_  
_And I said that was good._  
_I wandered in Summer in the elm-woods of Ossiriand._  
_Ah! the light and the music in the Summer by the Seven Rivers of Ossir!_  
_And I thought that was best._  
_To the beeches of Neldoreth I came in the Autumn._  
_Ah! the gold and the red and the sighing of leaves in the Autum in Taur-na-neldor!_  
_It was more than my desire._  
_To the pine-trees upon the highland of Dorhonion I climbed in the Winter._  
_Ah! the wind and the whiteness and the black of branches of Winter upon Orod-na-Thôn!_  
_My voice went up and sang in the sky._  
_And now all those lands lie under the wave,_  
_And I walk in Ambaróna, in Tauremorna, in Aldalómë,_  
_In my own land, in the country of Fangorn,_  
_Where the roots are long,_  
_And the years lie thicker than the leaves_  
_In Tauremornalómë._

Treebeard stopped then, stating that he was not able to sing it all for it was much too long and they had not the time for it to be told in its entirety. Nor was he in the mood to speak of such sadness, of days lost, when they were already going off to counter such dark evils in battle. But the parts the old Ent did share somehow buried themselves deep in Harry’s mind.

In a way it reminded him of Galadriel’s song on the Silverlode. At least the beginning of Galadriel’s song was very similar. Thinking back, that too had been a very sad story told in beautiful, dulcet tones that had momentarily hid its sombre meaning. A chronicle of Lórien’s glory days that had been tainted by arrogance and power, which led to the descension of a once-great civilization.

Harry had a sinking suspicion that Treebeard’s song, too, would end in the same way.

Both songs seemed to call to him now, to an ancient part of his soul, with a type of kindred longing that he could not explain. It made him yearn to one day hear both tales in their entirety, if he could find someone else willing to tell them.

But for now, he would just sit and listen, resting up as best as he could for the battle that lay ahead.

.. .. .. … . … .. .. ..

  
Finally, by afternoon on the third day, they arrived.

Harry and Treebeard had reached the borders of Fangorn that morning. The last leg of their journey was through the low hills that separated Fangorn from Isengard, at the base of the Misty Mountains. Over the course of the morning, they traversed the twenty miles of uneven, grassy terrain in just over two hours, and then froze at the sight before them.

It was a wasteland. A wasteland of tree stumps, blackened earth, gaping holes, and thick, smoke-like fog that just hung in the air with a cloying, putrid smell. It was just as Treebeard had described; just as Harry had seen in his vision from the Valar. But seeing it for himself with his own eyes, smelling it for the first time, and hearing the ringing silence that spoke of nothing, but death struck a deep, savage chord in Harry.

Righteous anger, the likes of which he had never fully known before, pulsed through him in strong, violent bursts.

Suddenly, it felt as if this was a personal slight to him. Like these lands had been his own; his own to protect. And that they had been blighted in such a way boiled his very blood and left him with a deep-seated rage that he could not displace. He could not even begin to put into words the devastation, the fury, the pain he felt at what he saw lay bare before him.

Before coming to Middle Earth, if anyone had asked Harry if he had any love for the forest, he would probably have shrugged and given a noncommittal answer. He had grown up in the suburbs of Surrey for most of his life, after all, and then in the halls of an old castle surrounded by a forest that was most forbidden to enter. Not that that had ever stopped him or his friends from finding their way inside regardless, whether willingly or not. But he could honestly say that he’d never really given any serious thought to the green, wild woodlands in general.

Coming to Middle Earth had certainly changed that.

This anger, this burning need to deliver justice to the ones responsible was something new to him. It felt connected, somehow, to the profound longing he’d experienced when listening to Treebeard’s tales of days long past. It was a latent part of his soul waking up with a sense of power, rage, and an overall need to protect the lands and Peoples of Middle Earth.

He knew now what he had to do. He answered the primal call.  
  
He was the _Lone Warrior_.

He began to gather the magic to him; all that he would need to reign justice down on this dark spot of land. He would be the one responsible for setting this right. He would be the judge, the jury, and the executioner.

No longer did he worry that his power alone would not be enough to achieve this task. He would bring an end to Saruman, save Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin, and dissolve Sauron’s control on Isengard; he was ready to take this on.

Drawing in a deep breath and imbuing the very air he took in with magic, he held it deep within his lungs for several moments before letting it out in one deafening roar.

“Saruman! Your reckoning has come! Come out and stand to receive justice for your crimes!”

. … . …. .. …. . …. .. …. . … .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just FYI, in case some people are confused, this is my story. It's under a different name on FF, but both accounts are mine. I generally like to keep them separate, but this was just easier. :) So no stealing or reposting going on here. 
> 
> And again, excerpts from Tolkien are not mine.


	18. The Riders of Rohan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit short, but I decided to move things around and keep the fight scene in one chapter instead. But at least that means the next chapter will be longer than it was originally, and it's already a quarter way edited!

Just as Harry and Treebeard had reached the borders of Fangorn to the gruesome scene before them, Legolas, Aragorn, and Gimli were crossing into the mainland of Rohan.

It was afternoon on the second day since they began their chase. The three hunters had cut through the countryside of rocks, streams, cliffs, and golden plains swiftly. The wake of the Uruk-hai’s destructive path was mere child’s play to follow, though they still went a bit slower due to Gimli’s slow-healing injury. It was only by the strength and stamina of his kind that he continued on and kept pace. Legolas, on the other hand, had taken the miles and miles of clear open planes as an opportunity to sleep run, and was already feeling more refreshed than one ought when running nonstop. 

For the remaining non-elven members who could not sleep while running, they had rested for a handful of hours the night prior. And that was mainly due to darkness hiding the path. Similarly, they sparingly broke fast, relying on Galadriel’s gift of _lembas_ to renew their strength while they ran.

Crossing the Entwash river that morning had brought them into Rohan proper, from which they would head North up to Isengard. Unlike the barren, desolate landscape of the Wold, which was also within Rohan’s domain, the fields closer to the capital were a deeper green that ran smoother underfoot. Even the air in these parts afforded a slightly fresher breath, lightly scented with the promise of spring. 

Such aromas of Nature in rebirth invigorated Legolas, who breathed in deep of the air like it was miruvor itself. And yet, despite the wonderful reprieve, there was still the lingering taste of a foul darkness in the atmosphere. According to Aragorn, these lands were habitually tenanted by herdsmen. To see them so bare, rather unsettlingly so, was a disquieting fact of war.

A silence not begotten of peace pervaded Rohan, placing the hunters on their guards.

It was thus not with a little trepidation that Legolas warned them when a company of horsemen, riding northeast with all due haste from Edoras, were coming their way. 

From appearance and logic alone, Legolas conjectured that they were Men of the Rohirrim. A supposition that Aragorn seconded from his friend’s description, having once lived among them. When pressed by Gimli to know more about these horse people, in order to better ascertain whether or not they were walking to their certain doom, Aragorn expounded.

“We should have nothing to fear from the men of Rohan. They are a proud and wilful people, with stout and generous hearts. They can be bold and brash but are not without wisdom and tolerance. I enjoyed my time living among them and learned in equal measure what it is to be both servant and master,” Aragorn said, slowing to a walk as he allowed Gimli to catch up and Legolas to slow his pace until they were all abreast. “What is more, they have long been friend and ally to the People of Gondor.

“I know not what has happened here of late, nor in what frame of mind the Rohirrim may be, especially in light of Saruman’s ever-expanding influence and treachery. But we would do well to keep in mind that after Gondor, they are the closest to the doors of Mordor and Sauron’s watchful eye.

“At this time, the only thing I can say with the least bit of confidence is that they have no love for orcs. And in that we have a common enemy.”

“But Gandalf had spoken of a rumour that they pay tribute to _Mordor_ ,” Gimli insisted urgently, lowering his voice uncertainly. He was not at all pleased with their current situation, being exposed in the open fields and heading towards a possible enemy. Especially, as it were, when they were outnumbered and relying on out-dated information for assurance.

“I believe it no more than did Boromir,” Aragorn replied assuredly, not faltering his steps in the slightest. “And he passed through their halls on his journey to Rivendell with no controversy. Besides which, I am weary, and our hunt has hitherto failed. These horsemen may have crossed paths with the Uruk-hai; we may get news from them yet.”

“Or death,” Gimli grumbled in retaliation.

“There are three empty saddles,” Legolas squinted his eyes and pressed a hand above his brow to block out the sun, “but I see neither hide nor hair of either Boromir or any of the hobbits,” he reported, now craning his neck and standing on his toes to peer at them in the far distance. “They are five leagues away from where we stand,” he said, halting the group as he spoke and bidding them to sit among the blades of grass as they waited for the company to reach them. “We will soon learn the truth either way. Already they approach. Ready your weapons.”

After a couple long, agonising minutes, the galloping of hooves was heard by Aragorn and Gimli as well, and the riding party was now visible on the horizon. The sound rose steadily in crescendo as the distance between them diminished.

At last, a long line of mail-clad men, over a hundred warriors strong, began riding past the remnants of the Fellowship, hidden in the tall grass. Their armour shone fair and their horses were of great stature; strong and clean-limbed. The beasts’ grey, white, chestnut, and dappled coats glistened in the afternoon sun. Their long tails flowed in the wind and their plaited manes slapped neatly on their proud necks in an efficient tattoo as they thundered by at a quick gallop. 

And the Men that rode them matched them well. Tall and long-limbed with flaxen-pale hair that flowed under their metal helms and streamed behind them; their faces stern and keen. In their hands they held tall spears of ash, while painted shields were slung at their backs. Long swords were strapped to their belts and their burnished shirts of mail hung down upon their knees, clanging with the constant up and down motion.

In pairs the company charged by, and though every now and then a man would rise in his stirrups and gaze around, they completely overlooked the three strangers silently watching them.

The leader, distinguished by the pure white horsetail of the Mearas flowing from the top of his helm, had just passed by, bringing up the rear, when suddenly Aragorn sprang up and bound forward. He called out to them, “What news from the Mark, Riders of Rohan?”

The party reacted immediately with surprising skill and speed. Checking their steeds, they came charging back around, weapons brandished menacingly, as they surrounded the three on all sides.

Sitting staunchly atop their mounts, the riders remained in position, swords pointed outward, waiting for their leader’s command.

The commander pushed his way forward. Pointing his spear in front of him, he narrowed his eyes in suspicion as he looked down on them. “A man, an elf, and a dwarf. Such acquaintances travelling in the same company I never saw.

“Who are you and what is your business traversing these lands,” he demanded threateningly. “Speak quickly! My men will not hesitate in the slightest once given orders, whereupon you will quickly find the luxury of breath hitherto afforded to you expired." 

Legolas’ jaw tensed in response as he stood his ground defiantly. Though his hand itched to raise his long knife from where it rested against his thigh, he refrained, waiting for further command from Aragorn, who knew these men and their ways best.

“We are but simple travellers,” Aragorn responded in a calm, yet commanding tone, his own blade pointed to the ground. “My companions and I come from the east and are hunting a band of Uruk-hai, whose trail we have been tracking these past few days.”

There was hesitancy in the commander’s eyes as they darted between the three of them and then back to his men, who also appeared a bit unsettled despite their fierce countenance. The commander’s stallion, sensing its master’s emotions, pounded the ground with his hooves and backed up a few steps before the man urged him forward once more. As he did so, Legolas noted from their state of dress and the stressed condition of their beloved horses that the group had been riding for days without reprieve. An odd thing, seeing as Edoras and the Halls of Meduseld were so near.

The nascent inklings of suspicion began to grow in Legolas’ mind, but he ignored it for the moment, keeping his eyes peeled and his ears alert for danger. Should the need arise, he would be the first to employ his blade and bow at the slightest hint of an attack.

The sound of leather creaking joined the huffing of the horses as the captain’s gloved hand tightened his grip on his weapon and pointed the blade downwards, positioning it at Aragorn’s throat. “I believe I asked for your names.”

Raising his hands in peace, Aragorn opened his mouth to reply, but was pre-empted by Gimli’s gruff exclamation. “I see they don’t teach manners to the minds of men in these parts!” the dwarf growled; an acidic tang added to his words that even Legolas had not heard before.

The elf prince had no doubt his friends’ current irritation and outrage were not being helped in the slightest by his wound. Not only had it been aggravated during the run, making it slower to heal, but the pain was making the dwarf more irascible and grumpier than usual. Before he could attempt to calm his friend and caution him to bite his tongue, however, Gimli continued.

“You point those swords away from our throats and tell us who has threatened our company so rudely, and we _might_ let you know who it is that you have the privilege of speaking to.”

The leader’s eyes flashed in response. “I would not mess with us _dwarf,_ we recently detained a son of Gondor not but a day ago and have no qualms with taking three more prisoners this hour.”

Legolas felt his breath catch in his throat with dread. Boromir! “So, the Men of Rohan have become nothing more than a band of travelling thieves and plunderers!” the elf decried. Fear for the Gondorian had pushed past his former patience and brought rash words of anger to his lips. “I had heard great things of your king, but I suppose Saruman most easily affects the weakest of any race!”

Aragorn laid a hand on both his cohort’s shoulders, silently asking of them to quiet their thoughts and back down. Stepping forward, he insisted, “Peace!” His voice remained calm, but Legolas could pick up a sense of urgency, belaying the worry he held for Boromir.

“We mean you no harm and have no wish to incur further ire between our peoples. We are just travellers sharing the road. Surely the sons of the Rohirrim would not bring death upon a fellow neighbour and friend to your king without sufficient provocation?”

At the Ranger’s speech, all men tensed and shifted upon their mounts. The dappled grey steed of the leader stamped its hooves and snorted against its bridle as its rider reined him in uneasily. The hostile and apprehensive nature of the group seemed to have grown with the mere mention of the king.

“If you claim friendship with the king now, then you all but sign your allegiance to Saruman the White and the Enemy of Middle Earth,” the man declared. A hardened resignation that had just been simmering under the surface before, was now sharp in his tone, mixed with a clear tenor of regret and grief.

Legolas, who had never met the king of the Horse Lords before, was at a loss. The People of Rohan were a reportedly peaceful tribe who had an elven-worthy appreciation for their horses. Indeed, the presence of the descendants of Felaróf staying among their people spoke for itself. The Mearas were widely prised throughout Middle Earth and known to be tamed solely by the kings and princes of Rohan. Legolas could not comprehend any of the Mearas ever siding with the Enemy. Did these men speak the truth? Did they and the king they spoke of hail from the same lands Aragorn had praised so highly? Perhaps Gandalf and Gimli were correct in their fears that Rohan had sided with the Enemy.

“The King of Rohan would _never_ pay allegiance to the Enemy,” Aragorn re-joined in outrage and disbelief. “I was a much younger man when I rode in the service of your king, but I remember a strong people who would never bow down to any but one of their own.

“I respected King Thengel greatly. He would never have allowed for his people to serve under another’s hand, especially one so dominating. And though I have since heard of his passing,” Aragorn acknowledged mournfully, bowing his head in respect, “I do not believe any of his kin would so dishonour his name and blatantly disrespect his legacy.”

“Who are you, stranger, to dare claim acquaintance with our late king?” the leader demanded dubiously.

Aragorn returned the leader’s shrewd stare. “Though your demands do not merit a response, I will tell you nonetheless that I was once called Thorongil while in service to Rohan and King Thengel. I cherished my time among your people. Your actions and words unfortunately do a great discredit to them.”

The leader leapt from his horse. Handing his spear off to a fellow rider, he drew his sword and pointed it directly at Aragorn’s breast. 

Instantly, Legolas had his bow in his hands and an arrow knocked, pointed at the captain’s temple, while Gimli has his axe half raised, poised to strike.

But Aragorn merely raise a hand to both dwarf and elf, never taking his eyes from the other man. 

The commander spent several more minutes staring at Aragorn with a steady, searching look. Bringing his face as close as he could to the Ranger’s, he surveyed him keenly, mistrustfully, yet not without a bit of wonder. 

Meanwhile, the surrounding horsemen had begun to mutter. “The Eagle of the Star,” Legolas heard whispered in awe-filled voices. He watched, surreptitiously, as their eyes widened and their breath stilled, looking at Aragorn like the little boys they had surely once been when their fathers and grandfathers had told them stories about the great legends of Thorongil. And Legolas had no doubt that the stories were quite impressive, recalling the very much under embellished tales Aragorn himself had shared several decades back. 

After a long moment had passed in hushed silence, the commander finally sheathed his sword. Removing his helmet and placing it under his arm, he revealed a stern, rectangular face, upturned, aquiline nose, and trimmed blond moustache and beard. Bowing his head, he asserted, “I apologise for my earlier behaviour in insulting one so cherished by our people. Times are dark and the Enemy works in the shrewdest and most unexpected of ways, which we all,” he gestured to his men, “have had the misfortune of discovering first hand.”

He paused and drew himself to his full height, which was truly impressive, nearly as tall as Legolas, and squared his jaw decisively. “I am Éomer son of Éomund, Third Marshal of the Riddermark, and nephew to the king, though he would not recognise me as such this day.” Éomer offered his hand and Aragorn grasped his forearm in return, cueing everyone to lower their weapons. 

Still, a sense of disquiet gnawed at Legolas’ mind, wondering what must have transpired for these men to speak so ill of their king and homeland. What evils had passed through these lands to disturb things so? And if these men were not welcome into the King’s Halls, then where had they taken Boromir? 

Éomer seemed somewhat dazed as he spoke. “I never imagined I would live to meet a legend, especially in these dark times, but I can see that you are everything that my grandfather and uncle ever spoke of you. What baffles me, however, is that you appear as though no years have passed since the time of my grandfather’s youth. What is more, with the fine cloaks you wear, and the extraordinary sword you carry, I wonder if you are not of elven kind,” he enquired. 

“Nay,” Aragorn shook his head humbly, “Not I. But Legolas here,” he gestured to his friend, “is one of the Woodland Elves from Northern Mirkwood, and Gimli is a member of Durin’s Folk hailing from the halls of Erebor.” 

Éomer turned his attention to Gimli and Legolas, and then spoke as thought they were not present. “Can you vouch for your two companions,” he compelled, his lips pinching in a frown as his countenance became more guarded. “You would give me your word that these two outspoken members of your company are not servants of the Enemy and cannot be swayed by the words of Saruman the White?” 

Chagrined at the fact that he and his dwarven friend had been conferred as having the quickest of tongues this day, Legolas remained quiet in response. Unfortunately, before Aragorn could defend his friends’ honour and trustworthiness, Gimli started in again. Fist raised warningly and axe shaking at his side, he yelled out, “A dwarf would never be caught dead with the likes of Sauron! We denied the Black Riders themselves; what makes you think a corrupt old Istar can do any different?” 

Legolas reached out and dug his fingers under his friend’s spaulder, keeping him in place as he eyed the men who had raised their weapons again. Raising his chin, he adduced, “The elves too have refuted the one who calls himself the Dark Lord of these lands. We represent our people well and shall never stand by the ear of any who would cause harm to the Peoples of Middle Earth, nor would we keep company with any that would follow such a dark path either. We need not prove ourselves to you for that to be known.” 

He paused, his words echoing severely in the open plains. “Now it is you who needs to explain your words and make your allegiances better known. What have you done with our Gondorian companion, and why do you claim the people of Rohan as your own yet hold no loyalty or fealty to your king?” 

“And you call us suspicious!” Gimli threw in for good measure. 

“Peace, peace,” Aragorn beseeched calmly, yet again, before their battle of words could get further out of hand. “I assure you that I trust these two with my life. If you have faith that I am who I claim, then that’s all you need to know. We are but travellers in pursuit of our friends, who are close to falling into the hands of Saruman. We have no dispute with the men of Rohan, as I believe our goals to be the same.” 

Legolas, once again, easily recognised the patience tutelage of Lord Elrond in both politics and diplomacy as his friend spoke. Both of which he was slightly ashamed to admit had been taught to him as well. The dwarf must be rubbing off on him more than he realised, he thought resignedly. 

Éomer nodded, silently calling his men off with a wave of his hand. “I am still not sure whether to believe you are chasing orcs in that raiment, with only the dwarf wearing any armour or chainmail to speak of, but I pride myself a good judge of character and can see you are no friend of the Enemy. 

“You are indeed a favoured friend of Rohan, Captain Thorongil, but since Théoden fell under the corrupt influence of Grima Wormtongue, I’m afraid Théoden no longer recognises friend from foe. Not even a favoured captain of the old guard.” 

Aragorn’s expression fell dark with suspicion as he asked, “Who is this Master Wormtongue, and why does he hold the king’s ear?”\ 

“A henchman of Saruman the White’s, as you might have guessed,” Éomer answered with a glower. “The same Istar who has sent out his armies of Orcs to destroy our lands and the homes of our people, even mortally wounding our prince,” he growled, his voice choking mournfully, and he bowed his head in grief. “My cousin did not deserve to die so young, especially under the blind eye and deaf ear of his own father. It was under the king’s command that we, the last of those faithful Rohirrim, were sent away, banished from our own lands by Grima’s own counsel.”\ 

A pang struck his heart as Legolas intuitively sensed the Fellowship’s path about to divert once more. Destroying the One Ring was no longer their only goal. By dedicating themselves in honour to the undertakings of the Fellowship, fighting this war now included protecting and defending all that were made vulnerable by Sauron’s need for domination. As a result, they were finding themselves pulled in far too many different directions without the means or the manpower to succeed! 

If only there were more people willing to fight back! 

Legolas let loose an internal sigh as he heard Aragorn voice his next question, knowing that there would be yet another hard decision ahead of them. 

“And what of the Gondorian man you captured earlier?” 

Éomer started at the question, casting a worrying glance behind him. “We met a rogue Gondorian traveller running through these lands as though the Black Riders themselves were on his tail. He tried to hide, and then outmanoeuvre us, but we trapped him. He gave a story very similar to yours,” Éomer admitted uncomfortably, “Once we saw the horn at his hip, we grew wary, wondering why a captain of Gondor would travel so far from home, alone. He claimed to be the son of the steward, Denethor, which was odder still. I had not been at the Hall when he supposedly came through and could not vouch for his identity. Éowyn, my sister, had been present, however, and will be able to tell us one way or another.

“Some of my men, however, were under the impression that if he _were_ a spy, by bringing him before the king we could show our loyalty and return to his good graces.” Éomer scowled, shaking his head crossly. “I disagreed! I have seen the king’s madness more clearly than my compatriots, save that of my sister and late cousin, and know first-hand that none can divert it.

“Nonetheless, I ordered my men to take the prisoner to Éowyn first to see if she can confirm that he is who he says. If she can, your friend will be in good hands, even so close to a mad king.”

Gimli sucked in his teeth harshly, “The hobbits!”

Aragorn’s face paled and he needed to take a breath before speaking again. “This man, Boromir, was of our party. Two of our own had been injured in a fight against a group of Uruk-hai, the remainder of which kidnapped another four of our friends. Boromir was sent out to scout ahead while our injured rested. Have you seen or heard anything of the foul beasts we hunt? If we do not find them soon, Saruman will.”

Halfway through Aragorn’s speech, Éomer’s face drew completely white. “These Uruk-hai you speak of? Monsters that are a cross between goblin and orc, who can run in the daylight?” Aragorn nodded, and Legolas could feel his heart constricting in his throat. “There were seven of them?” Aragorn nodded tersely again. “And you say they had four of your friends captured among their ranks?”

“Four hobbits,” Gimli clamoured vociferously. “They have four hobbits with them. Have you seen them? Do you know where they are?”

Swallowing thickly, Éomer cleared his throat before visibly gathering the courage to look Aragorn in the eye and state in as strong a voice as possible, “We crossed paths with them the other night and slaughtered them all. We burnt the carcasses in the darkness. As best as we could see, we left none alive.”

. … . …. .. **….** .. …. . … .

In the echo of Harry’s outraged and furious roar, Treebeard let loose a resounding growl that shook his very roots, creating a ripple effect all around them. The very rocks, stumps, and dirt that made up the wasteland began to tremble. And the power coursing through Harry only continued to grow as he held on to the ent’s quivering limbs.

He needed to get to Saruman, now, before the vile Istar could even think of running.

The question was, how well could he carry an ent in a side-along apparition?

Grasping onto the maelstrom of chaos and anger as his _determination_ , he pictured Saruman’s face in his mind’s eye with careful _deliberation_ , and then told Treebeard to hold tight before Apparating to their _destination_. His steps were out of order, but the end result was the same.

“Oh-ho!” Treebeard cried, staggering a bit as he tried to re-find his footing. “A little warning next time, master wizard. A little warning, indeed! A-hrum hrum hrum.”

Harry took that as his opportunity to jump off and get his first real look at Saruman’s lair. A gloomy tower at the base of the Misty Mountains. It stood like the black bishop, alone on a chess board; tall, dark, and sinister looking. And just like the wasteland they had just left, the land surrounding it was hole-ridden, burnt, smoking, and dead.

No sunlight shone here, though it had been a pleasantly bright day only moments before. 

He and Treebeard stood a quarter of a mile outside a large concentric ring that had equidistant lines spaced around it that radiating from the base of the tower, like a sick parody of a star. Within the circle, along the lines, the earth fell away and it looked like the depraved and demonic fiery pits of hell were burning below. The screams, awful, inhuman screeching noises, and terrible bellows only added to the comparison. 

Harry supressed a shiver and glanced over at Treebeard to check that the ent had regained his equilibrium from the unexpected Apparition.

Then as one, wizard and ent stepped forward into the heart of the destruction and carnage. Ash and dust, root and twig, and in some cases, blood, crunched underfoot with the scent of decay permeating the stale air. Every breath sullied his lungs, but Harry ignored it in favour of steeling himself for the confrontation ahead.

His eyes zeroed in on the set of stone steps at the base of the tower that led to a dark doorway set into the front of the building. He could see the exact moment when the shadows lengthened and the door swung open, revealing Saruman the White in all his pale robed glory. His white hair, long and straight, framed an equally pale and drawn face, though his moustache and parts of his beard surprisingly still held some streaks of black.

An imperious frown marred the Istar’s face as he descended the stairs with deliberately slow steps. His army of orcs swarmed behind him as he went, pouring out of the hellish crevices in the ground like an infestation of spiders whose nest has been disturbed.

Harry stopped walking just at the edge of the outer most ring and waited for Saruman to approach.

The Istar halted halfway and threw out a hand, silently keeping his minions at bay in the shadows of the tower. 

“Who dares call me out in my own domain?” Saruman challenged, his deep, stentorian voice boomed, leaving an unpleasant ringing in Harry’s ear. The old Istar raised his chin with a sneer, attempting to look down his nose at Harry, only to find that the young man was almost as tall as he was. His eyes flickered then to Treebeard and he flinched, ever so slightly, to see the raw anger roiling in the ancient ent’s stare. 

“What could an old ent and a boy possibly hope to gain against the greatest Istar on Middle Earth?”

Harry could feel his hackles rise involuntarily at the insult, and the force within him grew. Widening his stance, his shoulders lifted as he breathed in and ignited a spark in his chest. A charged, electric aura sparked to life around him, billowing his elven cloak and filling the air with a menacing crackle.

His reply was short, sweet, and to the point.

“Justice,” he ground out before throwing his hands up and letting loose a feral cry.

As he brought his arms down in a grand sweep, the anger, power, pain, and overwhelming desire to protect and defend was finally let loose. With a gargantuan effort, Harry took hold of the tops of tower with his magic and pulled.

. … . …. .. …. .. …. . … .

Leagues away to the south, three of the Fellowship staggered back, fearing the worst for the hobbits. Aragorn finally opened his mouth, about to demand more details of Éomer when Legolas suddenly cried out in dismay. 

His knees gave way as a wave of raw, unforgiving power swept through his body, mind, and soul. He didn’t feel Gimli and Aragorn scrambled to support him or hear the consternated cries of the Rohan men. All he could focus on was a heady, rushing sensation that needed no words to be understood: The Lone Warrior had awakened. And he was out for blood.

. … . …. .. …. .. …. . … .


	19. The Reckoning

The Lone Warrior had come to call Saruman out, demand he account for his deeds, and make him pay retribution for the harm he had caused. And that retribution started with toppling Saruman’s stronghold; this cursed black tower that was as twisted and dark as the corrupt Istar himself.

Having reached up with his magic, Harry pulled at the iron citadel to bring it crashing down to the ground.

Before anyone could even react beyond looking up to see what was coming, huge chunks of stone were tumbling down overhead with a concussive boom that shook the ground and the very foundation of the tower. Orcs were crushed where they stood, and the sound of screeching howls being strangled and aborted filled the air as bits of shrapnel flew and rocks continued to fall and crumble.

A thick dust billowed outward from the ground, constantly moving as though it had a mind of its own. Before it could settle, Harry reached up to grasp the bottom half of the fortress.

Just as he had gotten a hold and was ready to pull again, Saruman seized his chance. Lashing out violently with his staff, a blast of wind blew forth with a high-pitched keening, lifting up the heavy stones and pavement from underfoot, and knocking Harry off his feet and onto his back.

Winded, Harry scrambled, stumbling, to his feet. Peering through the thick curtain of dust and grit to find the Istar, his eyes suddenly widened in building horror.

The clouds of ash and debris had begun to swirl around faster and faster, in tighter and tighter circles, as a swelling tornado took shape. It weaved left, then right, then further right, forward and backwards, with no set pattern or sense of control, other than it was heading in Harry’s general direction.

Harry felt Treebeard move to stand behind him and brace himself on the uneven ground. Squinting into the gale, he ignored the tornado for a moment and concentrated on subduing the wind that was feeding into the unnatural storm. Reaching out with his hands again, he pushed downwards as though subduing a swarm of wayward pixies.

Sweat began to pour down his temples, into his eyes, and collect at the base of his back as he strained against the Istar’s magic.

The suddenly, Saruman released his hold and Harry nearly fell forward from the sudden lack of resistance.

With the wind gone and his vision clearer, Harry could now see how Saruman had used that tug of war to distract him from the tornado, now three times its original size, and coming back around to head straight at Harry.

Stabilising himself against Treebeard, Harry grabbed at the cyclone and held fast, twisting his entire body clockwise against its rotation. His hips dug into Treebeard’s leg as he wrangled hold of the twister and fought with everything he had in him.

He could see the rage on Saruman’s face as he refused to back down. Refused to cow to the mighty Istar who had chosen the path of evil over good because he thought Middle Earth’s fate was sealed. But Sauron would not win, would not get his hands on the Ring, and Harry would make sure Saruman knew that by the time he admitted defeat.

And admit defeat he would because Harry’s resolve and determination were stronger. He wasn’t just fighting for his own survival; he was fighting for Frodo, for the Fellowship, and all of Middle Earth.

With that thought, Harry felt power swell in him again. From deep within his chest a fiery steel burgeoned and melded with his magic.

Surprisingly, this time he did not sense the Valar as its source, but something different. Something warmer, slightly familiar, yet still foreign. His mind briefly supplied the memory of drinking Ent draught, but then flitted away again before he could finish making the connection.

This was for the promise he made Frodo, he said, repeating the mantra in his head. Gritting his teeth and grunting with the effort, he managed to slowly, painstakingly, wrestle control from Saruman. With a shrill, guttural howl that set Harry’s teeth on edge, Saruman stumbled forward as Harry finally forced the unnatural funnel to unwind.

“Ha,” he breathed out heavily, confidence rising at his first real victory.

But no sooner had he regained his footing and let his muscles relax minutely, Saruman brought his staff round again and pounded it into the stone in front of him.

Suddenly, Harry felt the cracked stone shift beneath his feet as it crumbled and then instantly reformed into a monstrous hand that grabbed onto his legs and pulled him down into the ground.

With a soul-wrenching scream, nearly dislocating his jaw from the force with which he tore it open, Harry threw his head back in absolute anguish. He could hear his kneecaps cracking beneath the strong grip, his vision blurred, and the entire lower half of his body exploded with pain as every muscle, every nerve, was crushed against the hard stone of the earth.

Fierce rage that had momentarily been diluted by the sheer agony flared back up as Harry pried his eyes open and caught sight of the supercilious smirk gracing the corrupt Istar’s face. Then from behind him, a furious, screeching howl, like a whole orchestra of out-of-tune violins being played at once, came from Treebeard behind him.

“Termites!” The ent cried, “You dare attack the Lord of Fangorn with termites! Vile creatures of this earth!”

Harry could see in his peripheral Treebeard thrashing around as he tried to shake the disgusting bugs from his bark-like flesh.

Saruman was quickly stepping up his game and unfortunately had many more centuries of experience than Harry. Still, that had never stopped the young wizard before, and it certainly wouldn't keep him down now.

Just as Harry started to be able to push past the pain and regather the magic in his hands, all the air was pushed out of him again in one fell swoop. A wall of solidified dirt slammed into him from behind, along with the great weight of the ent. Harry felt something snap in his neck as his entire back was forced into unnatural angles by the weight of a sentient tree.

Harry soon found himself falling face first into stone and earth, even as his legs stayed fixed into the ground, still being squeezed by the stone fist. There was another distinctive crack of something being displaced as his torso strained past the point his legs could follow, and then he was breathing in a mouthful of dirt as his entire head to his shoulders was engulfed completely.

A great cry of shock and horror reverberated in his ear just then, sounding like it was coming from inside his very own head. But before he could even think to acknowledge it as something other than his active imagination, his body and mind shut down and instinct took over.

Harry went completely still for a moment, distantly processing the monstrous roars Treebeard was making as he tried to break free, all muffled by the tonnes of dirt burying them both.

At this point, Saruman probably thought he had won and was only biding his time before Harry and Treebeard’s cries were snuffed out like those of the dead orcs surrounding him. But what Saruman did not know was that Harry happened to work best under pressure - quite literally. And just when you thought he was done for, that was the moment when he was most likely to come back with a furious vengeance.

Thrusting his hands - the only body part not yet broken - deeper into the earth, Harry released a burst of power, setting off an explosion that extended 360 degrees around both him and Treebeard.

Stone, dirt, roots, weapons and machinery that had been buried within the underground, hellish crevices, and other debris burst forth like a nuclear bomb. The giant shrapnel and wind pierced what was left of the obelisk fortress, forcing it to collapse in on itself until nothing but a pile of rubble remained.

It was absolute chaos.

Harry’s ears rung violently, he could see nothing beyond the hand in front of his face, and he could no longer tell where his body was. Was he sitting, standing, lying down? He wasn’t sure of anything at the moment.

Yet even as the dark tower continued to fall and crumble under its own weight, the world grew eerily quiet once more. And in that time, the remaining magic and energy from the blast began receding backwards to its source, unseen to the naked eye. Unknown even to Harry, the wizard started to reabsorb the residual power from the atmosphere as it went to work reknitting bone, healing open wounds, and re-aligning all the twists in his body before moving onto Treebeard to do the same.

When the dust finally cleared after several indefinite minutes, wizard and ent were standing upright once more, looking a little haggard and dirty, but otherwise no worse for the wear.

Magic rolled off Harry in bright bands of green, gold, red, and silver.

Taking a moment that he hoped he had, he reached into his bag - still mostly intact by some strange miracle, or magic - and took a few desperate gulps of Ent draught to renew his strength. He offered the flask to Treebeard before screwing the cap back on and stowing it safely away again. Then, he slowly started walking over the rubble, as though wading through water at high tide.

His eyes shone with an inner light and his face was a solid mask of impartiality. He was the judge. He was the jury. And he would be the executioner.

Drawing closer at last, it appeared that Saruman had attempted to shield himself from the blast. Though he was not completely successful, judging by several welts, deep cuts, and monstrous bruises that littered his body, as well as a few oddly positioned limbs that looked especially painful. His robes had fared little better, looking much more tattered and torn, unlike Harry’s elven garb that had surprisingly held up quite well so far.

Harry didn't allow himself even the satisfaction of a small victory this time. He knew the sly wizard would retaliate the second he regained enough energy to open his eyes. And Harry wouldn’t allow himself to be caught off guard like that again.

Instead, Harry concentrated his energies on building his magic for his next attack and trying to come up with a feasible plan to win. He would not give up until Saruman was down and there was no doubt that he would never be getting up again.

But Harry was determined to face him in battle, and triumph by strength, not some underhanded manoeuvre while his enemy lay unaware at his feet. That was not how he would prove himself to the Valar, the Fellowship, or himself.

All too soon, however, the Istar finally did awake from his semi-conscious state. He levelled Harry with a look the wizard had seen only once before. During the Final Hogwarts Battle in the Great Hall, Voldemort had eyed him with unmitigated loathing and disbelief when he realised that he had finally met his match and that Harry actually _was_ his equal.

This gaze too was one of shrewd, calculating malice, and slight, almost indiscernible uncertainty and nervousness.

But Harry didn’t let himself dwell on it. Learning from his last mistake, before Saruman’s eyes had even started to move beneath his eyelids, Harry had already started erecting a strong magical barrier around himself and Treebeard, who was still dogging his steps. While it was true that the best defence was a good offence, some situations called for a balance of both.

So though it wasted precious time in allowing Saruman a moment to recuperate and counter, Harry was banking on the fact that it would protect him and Treebeard in the long run and assure they were able to keep their next victory.

As predicted, Saruman took advantage of Harry’s momentary lapse while he worked on strengthening his barrier. The Istar raised his staff and swiftly conjured colossal, dense, pitch-dark thunderclouds that looked to be made from the ozone of hell itself. They rolled in ominously from behind the looming mountains and stopped once they floated above where Harry, Treebeard, and Saruman stood. Waiting.

Lifting up his white staff, Saruman incanted a low, throaty chant, finishing just as Harry’s final shield slammed into place and a blindingly bright bolt of lightning flashed from the sky, straight towards Harry. It bounced right off the wall of warped air that looked more like a wall of heat than your typical _Protego_. The shield flashed silver where it was hit for half a second before absorbing the energy from the charge and turning translucent once more.

Harry jumped back reflexively despite the fact that the barrier had held strong, his previous half-baked plans wiped from his mind for the moment. Looking up, he held his breath as another flash of lightning leapt from the sky, this one even more powerful than the last. It exploded in a shower of lights and bolts that made the world around him quake and the atmosphere crackle with electricity.

Seconds later, twin claps of thunder woke the skies and all but blew out Harry’s eardrums and rattled his brain, disorienting him while the ground continued to shake beneath him, and the air vibrated around him.

Blinking furiously, he shook his head clear and moved his gaze back to the shadowed remains of the tower that he could still perceive through the thick, dirtied air. Angrenost, Treebeard had called it. A sound that rumbled gutturally in the back of your throat, making you want to spit it out. He could just make out Saruman’s blurred image through the smoky haze and small fires dotting the grounds around them. A tarnished white cloak beneath a pale, gaunt face that was twisted grotesquely in a nasty sneer. And in his hand, was the distorted outline of a thin ivory staff.

That was the source of the Istar’s power. That was his wand. And unlike Harry, it seemed that Saruman relied on it to power his spells.

Harry filed that information away for a time in the near future when he could use it. If he was truly going to defeat Saruman, he needed to break that staff; one way or another.

Regrouping, Harry dug deeply into the power that was still jumping erratically in and around his body. But this time he didn’t just feel that strange mixture of his personal magic combined with the power from that familiarly foreign presence from before, as well as whatever the Valar had gifted him. No, this time it was so much more. His own magic had truly merged all three sources of power and become one. And it was much stronger.

Breathing deeply, he scanned the battlefield for ideas, feeling a sense of calm certainty flow over him.

“You can win this, lad! And the forest stands behind you!” Treebeard declared, leaning down to place a gnarled, twisted bark-covered hand on his shoulder. And with it, Harry felt something snap into place, like a string being pulled taut.

And then he… _heard_ it, _felt_ it, _saw_ it in his mind’s eye.

It was the very essence of Fangorn Forest greeting him. And it was coming from each and every living creature; ents, trees, birds, snakes, and all manner of tiny critters. All waking up as they felt his mind inadvertently reaching out to theirs, asking for their help, entreating them to come to his aid. For the sake and survival of Fangorn, the Misty Mountains, and Rohan as well.

He continued his call to arms, pouring his magic over the connection and feeding life into the forest itself, until finally, he felt a reaction.

A muted explosion burst forth from over a hundred miles away in the very heart of Fangorn and spread rapidly outwards in a flurry of movement towards Isengard.

And then the forest, still visible over the low hills in the east at the base of the mountain, began to move.

. … . …. .. …. .. …. . … .

Unbeknownst to Harry, whilst he engaged Saruman in battle, back on the green plains of Rohan, Legolas had gone perfectly still. Completely unaware of his physical environment, his mind was currently linked to Harry’s, seeing through the wizard’s eyes, using the tenuous connection made between Lone Warrior and Companion.

Aragorn, Gimli, and the Rohirrim stood in tense silence as they watched over the seemingly frozen elf with varying looks of trepidation.

Gimli laid a hand on Legolas’ shoulder in solace, believing him to be struck with grief, but received no response. Clearing his throat, he turned back Éomer. “Are you sure? Are you sure you did not see –”

“We left none alive,” Éomer repeated, hanging his head as he avoided Aragorn’s stare.

The squeak of shifting leather and the snick of sword holsters bumping against armour further underscored the silence and sense of hopelessness that permeated the air.

“We will go to the battle sight and make sure it is true with our own eyes,” Aragorn softly declared. He paused to grab at Legolas’ arm and help him stand. The elf complied as though he were a simple rag doll, and nothing more, his eyes completely glazed over and unresponsive.

Aragorn cast his friend a worried look but refrained from commenting further. Turning back to the horsemen, he continued, “We know the hobbits to be resourceful and clever; if there is even the slightest possibility that they have somehow survived…” he trailed off.

What went unsaid was the urgency to search for the Ring as well. If the Uruk-hai and the hobbits were truly dead, then they could only hope to find the Ring still among the bodies. It did not bear thinking the probability of the creature Gollum having gotten there first.

“We shall not abandon hope yet,” Aragorn finished, and Gimli was quick to verbalise his own agreement, willing to see their chase to its end.

“My men and I will accompany you,” Éomer offered, already climbing back into the saddle. “We can take you to the battle site and help you in your search.” He gestured behind him to some of his men. “We have three horses who have recently lost their masters. They are yours to help speed your journey, no matter which way you choose to go next. Either way, my men and I are at your service, should you so wish it.”

Though Éomer’s gesture likely stemmed from the man’s hero-worship for Captain Thorongil, Aragorn was thankful for the aid, nonetheless.

There was a bit of a predicament when Gimli flatly refused to ride anything bigger than a pony. Normally, they would have led with the assumption that Legolas would ride with Gimli. But the elf remained lost in his own world, seemingly unfit to control his own movements, let alone a horse.

“Is he well,” Éomer queried as he helped Aragorn manoeuvre Legolas behind his second-in-command, strapping him to the warrior’s back for his own safety.

“I cannot say I know for sure; the mysterious power of the Elves is forever escaping me. But I have no doubt that eventually he will wake. Whether, at that point, he will be able to explain himself in a way that we mortals will understand is another issue entirely.”

Aragorn than moved to help Gimli up into the saddle before mounting the horse himself and taking up the reins.

Soon after, the Fellowship plus the Riders of Rohirrim were on their way at a swift canter.

“It is less than 12 leagues northwest from here. We have since circled back from where we found them,” Éomer explained, given the fact that they were moving perpendicular to the directions from which the riders had come. “We thought it odd to find only seven in their group and were sure there must be others about. We have been scouring the area all morning, but if it is as you say and you had already slain the rest, we can cease our search.”

“For now,” Aragorn replied apprehensive. “Saruman created those Uruk-hai to act as an army worthy of the forces of Mordor. They were built to quash any resistance from the Free Peoples of Middle Earth.

“Though there do not seem to be many willing to resist at present,” he said dubiously, looking around at their paltry numbers of just over a hundred warriors. “All the more reason to create an army large enough to subdue even the smallest bit of hope from numbers alone.”

“That is a sobering thought indeed,” Éomer said, his face paling. “How much time do you think he has had to create such forces? Was that group not the first ones sent out to see how they fared?”

Aragorn hummed, “I would like to believe that to be the case, but it is more than likely that Saruman has already built his army. At least several thousand strong.”

“Several thousand!” Éomer gulped as Aragorn’s warning and estimates trickled back through the rest of his men.

Gimli huffed in agreement, scowling darkly. “We’re going to need a bigger army than just the Fellowship and a group of banished Riders to contend against a whole army of those behemoths.”

Aragorn said nothing for a while, concentrating on the path ahead and willing the miles to pass faster. But like most things in these dark times, his prayers were in vain.

“Unfortunately,” Aragorn sighed, speaking more to himself than the group at large, “Though there are many good people on Middle Earth, not nearly enough possess the courage of conviction to act. And goodness without courage is useless. Evil will continue to prevail so long as good people continue to do nothing.”

With their hearts hanging heavy in their chests, the company spurred on their steeds, hoping against hope to find some good news at the end of their journey.

  
. … . …. .. …. .. …. . … .

Ents, birds, and beasts of all sizes began pouring over the mountain. Slowly at first in a gentle trickle, and then it turned into a veritable deluge as those that could not walk fast enough were being picked up and carried on backs or flown in talons until the mountain was completely covered in a moving black mass.

The ents stood the tallest among the multitudes, shepherding the birds in the sky to fly low and avoid the lightning still streaking from the sky, directing the small rodents on the ground to attack the tower and take down what Harry had left of the crumbling edifice, and guiding the larger animals to start attacking the last of the orcs.

A spasm of fear flashed across Saruman’s face, but it was soon replaced by a look of anger and malice. The Istar called to his minions in a foreign tongue that sounded like it belonged to the devil himself, or _Morgoth_ , his mind supplied. He certainly couldn’t distinguish any words, but it must have been effective, for the remaining orcs and Uruk-hai that had not been crushed suddenly erupted from the ground, pouring out from the fiery crevices that surrounded Harry, Treebeard, and Saruman.

There were hundreds and hundreds that must have crawled out from the deepest depths of the earth. They spotted their prey straight away and made a beeline towards the Fangorn army. Harry watched as misshapen cats covered in bits of bracken, hog-like creatures with fur that looked more like moss, and proud elk with impressive antlers that were spun with what appeared to be nests of gypsy moths came barrelling at the Isengard army, taking the monsters out in droves.

Knives, teeth, claws, talons, and all manner of limbs and hard heads clashed in a cacophony of roaring, screeching, hissing, and wailing. It was hard to see beyond the slamming of bodies and spray of blood, as the battle ebbed and flowed around the three of them. For just as Harry had cast a shield around him and Treebeard, Saruman had quickly raised his own at the sight of the stampeding animals. It rippled and shone around him like a thick goo mixed with black flames.

“You think you can win by toppling some buildings and releasing a few rabid animals? I have created an entire army!” Saruman bellowed, “Even now my Uruk-hai are hidden in the mountains, waiting for my master’s command to march out and conquer all of Middle Earth.

“Sauron is more powerful than you can even imagine. His Eye sees everything! And not even the combined strength of Galadriel and Elrond can stand up against Him when the Ring is returned to its rightful lord. He will scourge the lands, everything you hold dear, and take back what is His!”

“Just because you were too much of a _coward_ to stand and fight against Sauron, doesn’t mean the rest of us will roll over so easily!” Harry rebutted.

Saruman sneered in contempt at Harry’s words, scoffing, “What false bravado from a mere child. Who are you to think you can stand up to the greatest, most powerful Maia there ever was and ever shall be?”

Harry’s eyes flashed in defiance. “I am the Lone Warrior of the Aratar.” Harry watched Saruman’s eyes widened imperceptibly, quickly covering it with a deeper scowl. “I have been chosen to protect the Free Peoples of Middle Earth, and I will see Sauron destroyed. But first, you _will_ see retribution this day!”

Before the last words had fully left his mouth, Saruman was lifting his stave to the heavens and calling down his next attack. Another lightning bolt, this one as thick as Treebeard’s trunk, came charging downs towards Harry in an instant.

With less than a second to react, Harry instinctively raised his hands and caught the bolt. By some miracle and depths of power he hadn’t known he possessed, the mass of pure energy froze in place. Not 20 feet above his head, it still managed to raise the hair on his head and make his skin prickle unpleasantly.

The fighting continued to rage around them, ebbing and flowing without pause and no clear winner emerging. Harry and Saruman were immune to it all, frozen in that one moment; another battle of wills breaking out.

Harry could see a clear difference this time. Saruman’s face was turning blood red, the shadows around his features darkening as he strained to put all his power behind forcing the gigantic bolt down, smiting Harry once and for all. But Harry refused to give up that easily. Even as his arms strained from the weight of simultaneously holding up and squeezing together the chaotic mass of positive and negative charges that writhed in his hold, begging to be released.

Sweat poured down his face and back once more, falling into his eyes and drenching his hair. _Priori Incantatem_ was a cinch compared to this. At this point, Harry felt like he could have beaten Voldemort five times over with one hand tied behind his back.

In all honesty, he wasn’t sure how he was still standing, let alone holding his own. But just as his parents had once stood as shades by his side, lending him their strength and love, Harry felt a similar certainty that he was not alone. Whether it be the Valar or some other presence, he could sense their encouragement; cheering him on, bolstering his courage, and galvanising his spirit to not give up.

Emboldened, Harry found the energy to slowly direct some more of his magic upwards, steadily reinforcing the volatile mass. He surrounded it, subtly loosening Saruman’s hold on the powerful currents until, finally, he could hold it no longer. With a forceful grunt, Harry threw down his arms and launched the attack back at Saruman.

The Istar didn’t even have a millisecond to think before he felt the product of his own magic, mixed with Harry’s, strike at his chest, right into his heart. It electrocuted him in one powerful shockwave that tore through his body with a vengeance. Saruman shook in fitful spasms where he stood for what felt like several minutes before crumpling to the ground, where he finally lay twitching and shaking; impotent.

Quiet disbelief washed over Harry as he bent forward, hands on his knees, trembling from head to foot and breathing in pained lungfuls of air.

It was over. It was finally over. He had done it.

After a good minute or so had passed and, amazingly, he felt like he could walk again, Harry straightened up and began to stalk forward. Hands up, ready to attack, just in case, he drew nearer to Saruman with Treebeard still in tow.

The moment he reached Saruman he stumbled back in shock. The old Istar’s eyes were still open and flicking about in a pattern only he could see. It was then that Harry saw the white staff, still barely in the old man’s grip, looking like it was bending and warping under some unseen pressure.

At that moment, Harry felt the somewhat familiar presence of what he recognised as the Valar speaking to him.

Opening his mouth, he cried out in concert with several other powerful voices, “Saruman the White, you have disobeyed your oath to the Valinor, broken your promise to the Free Peoples of Middle Earth, and failed in your task against Sauron. You are hereby banished from _Heren Istarion_ and exiled from the Lands of the Valinor forevermore ( _Quenya: ‘Order of Wizards’_ ). Your gift of wielding and possessing magic is rightfully stripped from you and is to be given back to the lands of Isengard as reparation for what you have taken from it.

“The time of the Istari is coming to an end, but you will nevermore be welcomed home. May your soul remain ever restless in the mortal world you sought to dominate, never finding strength enough to impose your will again!”

Harry staggered back once his proclamation had concluded, feeling like a gargantuan weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Swallowing thickly, he felt the pressure recede from his mind.

“His staff,” Harry said with a gesture, finding some comfort in hearing his voice had returned to normal.

Treebeard reached down to take the ornately decorated piece of wood and pointed it back at Saruman threateningly. “You, Saruman No-Name, will never darken the Forest of Fangorn with your vile, twisted, corrupt shadow again!” Then without further instruction, the ent snapped the stave in half with ease.

As soon as the rod broke, a blast of magic exploded outward. Invisible waves of rippling power distorted the air, passing back into the land, the mountains, the hills, and Fangorn itself.

Harry watched in fascination as the yawning hellish chasms, which had been glowing red and emitting smoke and demonic cries from their hollowed depths, began to knit themselves back together. Whatever hell spawn that had not already emerged in the battle would be forever trapped as the serrated edges reconnected until all that remained was seemingly untouched soil.

Harry waited a moment, watching in trepidation, wondering what more he was meant to do with Saruman. The Istar was weak, powerless, and defeated. Harry was content to leave him where he lay, but he had learned the hard way to never turn your back on an opponent, no matter how pitiful they may seem. Even a fangless snake can still strike out and strangle its prey.

Contemplating the best way to deal with the Istar, Harry didn’t notice the sudden change in the surrounding battle until Treebeard abruptly scooped him up with one hand and placed him back on his shoulder.

“ _Hrum_ now, you have done your part, master wizard, and for that I thank you. _Hm, hm,_ _hm._ But now your part is done, so let us do _our_ part.”

Confused, Harry looked around to see the Fangorn army had begun to fall back. They were rushing up over the mountain towards the cover of the trees as though the Eye of Sauron himself was upon them. Yet the remaining Uruk-hai and orcs did not give chase past the base of the mountain. The foul beasts roared at the animals’ retreating backs, pounding their chests and raising their weapons in victory.

Harry frowned in confusion. Hadn’t they won? Why were they sounding the retreat?

“What’s happening,” Harry inquired, leaning forward to ask if Treebeard had been the one to call them off.

In answer, Treebeard lifted a long, branch-like arm and directed Harry’s attention beyond the rubble to a great stone wall built in between two mountain cliffs. It was there Harry saw that while the animals had left, the ents had stayed behind and were currently attacking the wall itself. They were pounding away at the structure with all their might, throwing rocks, and digging their twig-like fingers into the nooks and crannies to pull out the nails and other plugs keeping it together.

“What are they doing, Treebeard?”

“Releasing the Ford of Isen!”

“A ford?!” Harry’s eyes widened as he realised what that structure was - a dam. Alarmed, Harry wrapped both arms around the branch sticking up on Treebeard’s shoulder and held tight.

“Brace yourself!” Treebeard warned as the water started to erupt in bursts from random holes. First, it spurted like small streams, one after the other, until the integrity of the wall was gone, and the water surged forward in great waterfalls as the entire structure fell in upon itself.

Treebeard widened his stance and dug his root-like toes into the earth, holding fast. It was just barely enough as the force of the tide pushed him back, reaching halfway up his chest and battering Harry’s toes about before he had the presence of mind to lift his feet up.

Back on the ground, Saruman had barely lifted his head and turned his face towards the rushing sound of water before he was swept away by the deluge, along with his army of orcs and Uruk-hai. His white robes were visible for all but a few seconds before he was dragged under and Harry lost sight of him. Even without his magic and power, though, Harry wondered if that was truly the last he would see of Saruman.

Either way, he had accomplished what he had come here to do. Saruman was defeated, and Isengard was no longer a stronghold of the Enemy. Like the Great Flood, it was being cleansed of the evil that had been wrought here and the land was being christened anew.

The water continued to flow for a good quarter hour more, with Treebeard and the other ents struggling to hold their ground. Eventually, though, the torrent slowly dwindled until it just brushed past Treebeard’s knees at a sluggish trickle.

When the deafening rushing sound had finally abated to a rough whisper, Treebeard spoke again. “Hm, now! That was some very powerful magic. Very powerful indeed!” He crooned admiringly, looking at Harry in awe as he began to walk towards a piece of the tower that was stuck sideways in the ground. Tall enough to be well above the water line, and wide enough to allow Harry a place to lie down. “There is no doubt in my mind, ah _hmm_ , _hmm_ , _hmm_ , that you, dear wizard, you are here to save us all. Fangorn Forest answers to my call alone. Oh hoo! Mine and the Protector’s. And you, master wizard, are a Protector.”

Harry nodded wearily, soaked to the bone, sore beyond belief, and feeling like he could sleep for days. He unfastened his damp cloak, which was still intact, and brought his wand out for the first time all day to cast a drying spell on the cloth. He then wrapped it around himself like a blanket. He supposed he could take a short nap. Just for a moment.

“Rest now,” Treebeard declared as Harry positioned his backpack behind his head and let his eyes begin to close. Treebeard turned around to stand sentinel and looked out at the rubble and floating bodies that even water could not cleanse.

As the world around him began to fade, Harry felt a gentle caress brush against his mind, and he swore he could almost hear Legolas’ voice whispering, ‘ _Rest well_ , Harry’. But perhaps that was just a dream.

  
. … . …. .. …. .. …. . … .

The images of Isengard disappeared like a curtain softly falling down when Harry closed his eyes. With the connection broken, Legolas felt the world pull away, tilt on its side, and then go completely dark.

For a moment, Legolas sat there dazed, not sure if he was still sleeping off the battle in Isengard, or somewhere in Rohan with Aragorn and Gimli. And what was the difference? Was he kneeling, sitting, lying down? He could still feel the lumpy pack under his head - no, that was _Harry’s_ head. And _Harry_ had just performed some awe-inspiring magic, not him. He was just an elf, after all, not an Istar or wizard.

His head was still reeling from what he saw Harry do! He had stood against Saruman, an Istar Gandalf had respected as his superior!

Not much was known about the Istari, but it was rumoured that they had been around since the creation of Arda itself. That implied power, skill, and experience Legolas could not even begin to fathom. And yet, with some help from the Valar - who Legolas had _actually_ _sensed_ in his connection with Harry! - Harry had defeated the most powerful Istar and barred him from ever returning to the Valinor.

Any lingering doubts he might have had about Harry and his ability to fulfil his role were now utterly obliterated. Legolas had felt the magic, the power, the control Harry had wielded with such skill. Let no one, least of all Legolas, ever question again Harry’s presence in the Fellowship and his ability to become the Lone Warrior of the Aratar.

With that sobering thought, Legolas began to mentally untangle himself from Harry and regain conscious awareness of his own body. It took a good long moment to fully banish the haze from his thoughts and firmly tell himself that he was not the one that needed sleep. He instead needed to find out what had happened while he had been incapacitated.

The first thing he noted was that his limbs were leadened down and did not feel like they were his to control. The second thing he noticed was that he was currently being jostled and bumped around in a steady, constant rhythm, and was sitting slumped up against another person. And it was still dark. Hadn’t it been day time just minutes ago?

Shaking his head, Legolas quickly came to the realisation that he was looking into the back of his own eyelids, and that the movement he was experiencing was from a horse.

Opening his eyes, he saw the chainmail shirt of one of the Rohirrim, upon which his forehead was pressed. And some type of rope was wrapped around his waist, keeping him in place and making it difficult to sit up.

From his peripheral, he could see Aragorn riding close by, with Gimli at his back.

Lifting his head and blinking up at his friends, he was greeted with cries of relief and concern.

“Legolas,” Aragorn steered his horse closer to come and grip the elf’s shoulder in a tight, steadying grip. “Are you alright? What happened?”

“Blasted elf! You gave us a ruddy good scare!” Gimli interjected before Legolas could even think to respond.

But once given the chance to speak, Legolas only nodded absently, still somewhat confused as to why he was no longer wet and where the ent had gone. Not sure what to say just yet, he concentrated his attention downward on freeing himself from the restraints. Once free, he leaned over the man in front of him to shake his hand in thanks before nimbly jumping over to the horse Aragorn had brought around to run between them.

Taking control of the reins and not once missing a beat in the group’s swift canter, Legolas manoeuvred his horse to the edge of the company. Hopefully there the three of them could have some semblance of privacy.

“I’m fine,” he assured the other two, beckoning them a bit closer. Once he was sure he had their attention, he quietly declared, “Harry has just defeated Saruman in a battle of sorcery and taken control over Isengard. Orthanc tower is completely demolished, the area flooded, and he has helped awaken the Ents and called forth the forest to fight back against the Enemy!”

Stunned silence met his unexpected announcement. Silence and dumbfounded stares that lasted for all but half a minute.

“Ha!” Gimli finally guffawed in disbelief, laughing uproariously and slapping at his thigh. Legolas reached over to grab his arm before the dwarf slid right off his and Aragorn’s horse in his gaiety.

“By Aulë,” Gimli rasped, “The dreams of the elves must be something grand, to have come out of a slumber believing all that! To think that spidery wisp of a boy could accomplish something so impossible! Ha!”

Legolas let go of his friend in disgruntled disgust. “I do not speak from the depths of reverie! I saw through Harry’s own eyes as he confronted Saruman with an ent at his side. I watched as he battled and defeated the White Wizard, spoke as one with the Valar to take away Saruman’s powers. They spoke through him and proclaimed the coming of the end of the Istari.” He looked out into the distance where he knew Isengard to be. “Did you not feel the surge of power; the explosion that was Saruman’s staff being broken and his very soul being banished for all eternity?”

Aragorn followed Legolas’ gaze, introspectively. “We could not see much, but the forest seemed to move from within.” Aragorn bent his head closer to his companions, mindful of the eyes and ears of curious men nearby. “The trees themselves shook, but we could not see much more from our distance. And there was indeed a great blast. It felt as if the earth itself was moving and an unseen force rippled the very air around us. Everything fell silent not long before you woke.” Aragorn lowered his voice even further. “How have you come to know this?”

Legolas glanced back at the dwarf, somewhat pleased to see Gimli’s expression no longer held the same scepticism, but rather shocked confusion. That would have to do for now.

“As I said before,” Legolas confided, “We were all wrong to doubt Harry, myself more than anyone. My eyes have been opened. Our connection, though nascent, was strong enough to pull me to him when he needed help. He has taken up the mantle of Lone Warrior of the Aratar, connected with the Valar, and been decreed to be one of the deciding forces in this war.”

Another stunned silence fell among the three friends, broken only by the horses’ heavy breathing and pounding steps.

Aragorn gathered himself first, his voice hushed in awe and newfound respect for their wizard companion. “You never said anything about him being a warrior of the Aratar.” At Legolas’ meaningful nod, he sat back in the saddle, looking somewhat dazed.

“The who, now?” Gimli looked from Legolas to Aragorn in confusion. “Are you saying that that boy was responsible for that unholy blast,” he asked, shaking his axe at the forest, which looked peaceful for the moment, though Legolas knew better, having seen it come alive less than an hour earlier.

“I heard stories as a boy, sitting alongside Elladan and Elrohir,” Aragorn continued to mutter, referencing his foster brothers and blood sons of Elrond. “The Aratar,” he repeated in a whisper.

“Who are the Aratar,” Gimli pressed, his frustration at being ignored bleeding into his words.

Legolas finally took pity on him and answered, “The Aratar are the most powerful beings among the Valar, known as the Eight Holy Ones of Arda. They are Manwë, Varda, Ulmo, Yavanna, Mandos, Nienna, Oromë, and your Aulë. And they have chosen Harry to be their champion on Middle Earth.” Legolas could hear the pride he felt for Harry clearly ringing in his voice.

“It is indeed extraordinary,” Aragorn mused. “We have all underestimated the lad. Hopefully his presence here will not be all for naught, then.” He paused before asking, “Did you find out anything about Frodo and the others?” His gaze flickered to the forest in the nearing distance. “What of their fate?”

“Nothing,” Legolas replied softly. “We will have to wait until we reach our destination. I can only hope that the Valar would not have gone to such trouble in bringing Harry here, only to see all hope destroyed and this war lost before it has hardly begun. We must keep faith that the halflings are still out there. Perhaps even under the forest’s protection, now that it responds equally to Harry’s call.”

“Hmph,” Gimli gruffed, a mixture of lingering scepticism and worry, “We shall find out soon enough.”

. … . …. .. …. .. …. . … .

“No!” Hermione cried, standing up abruptly. Her sudden movement caused Ron, who had had his teaspoon of sugar suspended over his mug, to jolt forward in alarm, sending the tiny grains flying across the table and onto the rug.

“What! What?” he shouted worriedly, looking in panic from Hermione to Harry, and then Legolas. “What’s wrong?”

It had been several days since the newlyweds had returned from their honeymoon and welcomed Harry and Legolas into their home once more. The elven couple had been more than happy to accept the extended invitation to stay, not keen on ever returning to Grimmauld Place. And Hermione had been the consummate host; making sure they were fed, comfortable, and wanted for nothing, even transfiguring the couch into a comfy bed for them during the nights.

And so far, all had been going well. It almost felt like old times, as Harry had recently set down the rule that over meals he wanted only to hear about his friends’ lives. But by and large, their days had been mostly dedicated to storytelling. With Harry and Legolas thoroughly captivating their audience and keeping them glued to their seats, hanging on their every word, until Ron and Hermione grew too tired to concentrate and stay awake a moment longer.

Just this morning, Harry had taken up the story after breakfast, and then Legolas had taken over just before lunch. He had been in the middle of telling things from his point of view when Hermione had interjected.

Ignoring her confused husband, Hermione started to pace the length of the living room. “This isn’t how any of this happens! That’s not how Tolkien wrote it; you’re completely messing with the timeline.

“Frodo did not destroy the Ring by going through the Wold. He went to the Falls of Rauros, where Boromir tries to steal the Ring, spurring him to go off to Mordor alone. Sam follows him and almost drowns as he attempts to swim after Frodo, and then, and then –,” she seemed to be fighting against the need to breathe as she searched for the right words, indignation colouring her face a bright, unattractive red. “It’s all wrong!”

“Hermione, it’s okay.” Harry stood from his seat to stop her flurried steps, placing gentle hands on her shoulders. “I don't know anything about the books or what Tolkien Saw, but this is how it actually happened. Me being sent there changed things.” He shrugged. “I don’t know what else to tell you.”

He slowly guided his friend back to her seat and into the arms of her husband.

‘ _I don’t know her as well as you do,_ ’ Legolas said softly as Harry stood over her, waiting for her to calm down her ragged breathing. ‘ _But to me, she sounds… scared.’_

Harry whipped his head around to stare uncomprehendingly, wondering what he was missing.

Legolas suddenly began speaking aloud, looking directly at Harry. “You always told me how integral Hermione was in making sure you passed all your classes. And how you never would have defeated Voldemort without her and Ron’s help.

“Having seen you square up against the most powerful Istar of Middle Earth, for a while it was hard for me to understand how you could ever have needed to rely on someone else so much to succeed. _Besides_ the small bit our connection does in helping ground and support you,” he added modestly, already reading Harry’s objection on his face.

“But I understand now, it wasn’t until _after_ you defeated Voldemort that you really came into your own. The Valar must have seen something in you then, to know that you would be the perfect champion. That you had potential to be a real leader. And even then, you didn’t become the Lone Warrior until you set out from the Fellowship and were forced to face Saruman by yourself.”

Legolas turned his gaze to Hermione then and added, with a kind smile, “So perhaps you two were just what he needed to fight Voldemort as a boy. You were all children then, after all. But you’ve since matured so much. And Eris- _ahem_ \- _Harry_ here has since been exposed to a world that you may never understand. And taken on a role that has far-reaching implications you didn’t consider until now, but-”

“But,” Harry cut in, sending a silent thanks to Legolas for setting him on the right track, “Just because I may no longer need you like I once did, doesn’t mean I don’t still treasure our friendship. And really, is my being more independent and capable really a _bad_ thing?” He smiled, hoping Hermione would appreciate his humour.

Hermione, though, remained silent, looking forlornly down at her clasped hands, Ron’s arm around her shoulder.

Harry understood that in all the excitement of reuniting and catching up, there hadn’t been much time to fully process how much things had changed. Or to consider the resulting consequences of those changes. And with the story now all but confirming that he had taken on the momentous role of Lone Warrior, an even bigger unspoken issue that had been stewing at the back of their minds was now being addressed.

Between his marriage to Legolas, position as a prince of Greenwood, and his responsibilities as Lone Warrior, it was no doubt becoming clearer and clearer to his friends that Harry had committed himself to Middle Earth for good.

“You know,” Harry started light-heartedly, once again attempting to add some levity to the situation. “At least you don’t have to worry so incessantly about me anymore. Not only have I gotten better at taking care of myself, but with being an elf, I’m a lot harder to seriously injure too. Haven’t been in a hospital bed for ages now,” he joked with a shrug.

Neither Ron nor Hermione reacted, and he could feel Legolas’ pitied exasperation being directed at his back.

Harry bit his lip, belatedly realising that reminding his friends that he was no longer human was _not_ the way to lighten the mood.

After several excruciatingly tense minutes, where no one spoke, Hermione eventually raised her head to look at him with red-rimmed eyes. “Oh, Harry,” she sighed. Standing once again, Hermione threw herself into Harry’s waiting arms. “We’ve just really missed you,” she whispered, her voice thick with tears.

Rubbing her back, Harry returned the tight embrace, reminding himself again how much he missed Hermione’s hugs. “Me too,” he agreed.

They stood like that for what felt like an eternity, just savouring the moment and attempting to pretend like they were back at Hogwarts. Just catching up in the common room after a short summer apart.

But Harry couldn’t ignore the oliphant in the room forever. And as much as it pained him to do so, he was the first to break the silence. “We don’t have to finish our story, if you’d rather we didn’t. I don’t want you stressing over all the divergences, as they’re not really all that important,” he shrugged unpresumptuously. “I just wanted to extend our time here for as long as possible and make sure you understood everything before we leave-”

“Leave!” Hermione tore herself from his arms and dug her fingernails into his shoulders, keeping him at arm’s length and in her grasp. “What do you mean ‘leave’?” she cried out in indignation, eyes wide and boring into Harry’s with a look of shock and betrayal. “We only just got you back, you can’t leave, you have to stay!” she exclaimed, the words running into one another as she pushed them out all in one breath.

With a silent sigh, Harry’s shoulders sunk imperceptibly as he had his original suspicions confirmed. He knew this wasn’t actual news to Hermione; she had likely sussed it out the moment he had formally introduced Legolas. But the fact was, none of them wanted to acknowledge that eventually his and Legolas’ time here would come to an end. And they would not ever be able to return.

Carefully extracting himself from Hermione’s grip, Harry took a step back and spoke in calm, even tones. “You two are my best friends. The closest thing I’ve ever had to family growing up, and I’ll cherish that forever.” He paused, gathering his breath as he looked meaningfully at the two, conveying as much with his words as with his eyes. “But I’ve another family now, one that’s all my own. And it’s on Middle Earth.” Despite the bare truth of his words, he still felt guilty for saying them. “This was just meant to be a visit. To let you know I’m alive and well, and happy. And to tie up any loose ends before I left for good.”

Hermione still looked to be in a state of shock, not having moved a muscle since Harry started talking. Worried, he reached out to take the hand laying limp at her side. But as soon as she felt his skin against hers, she flinched away and pulled back.

Sending Harry a woeful glare, she turned and stalked out of the room. A few seconds later a door slammed shut and muffled sobs could be heard coming from the bedroom.

Ron stood and made to follow her, but froze, his face turned away. Harry could see the iconic Weasley blush travelling up his neck and to the tips of his ears in anger. His fists clenched and unclenched themselves at his side, but he remained silent and unmoving.

Harry waited, not sure how to react. He had known they wouldn't be happy with him. Yet he’d held out hope that they would be happy _for_ him. He’d finally gotten the family he had always wanted and had found his place in the -well - _a_ world. He was comfortable in his own skin and with who he was. He had actually _earned_ the fame and respect he received in Arda, all on his own. And that meant more to him than he could ever fully convey.

With a resigned grimace, he turned towards the door, preparing to give the newlyweds some space and time to think. Hopefully they could get past this. He didn’t want to leave Earth for the last time with his friends’ disappointed and distressed faces forever stuck in his mind.

He and Legolas had just made it to the door when Ron spoke.

His anger had faded somewhat, replaced with a look of pained desperation. “You don’t know what it was like - what you vanishing like that _did_ to her. To all of us, but especially Hermione. She took your disappearance the worst of all of us. I even thought for awhile,” he trailed off, but Harry caught his meaning well enough. It was the Slytherin Locket all over again. But obviously they had gotten past that if they were married.

Harry wished he could say something that would put their worries at ease. Unfortunately, this particular discord could only be conquered by time and the willingness to accept that which could not be changed.

A pregnant pause stretched on awkwardly, increasing the tension in the room until Harry could practically taste it in the air. He had never felt so at a loss on what to do or say with his best mate before. And that, more than anything, seemed to highlight just how much they had grown apart.

Suddenly, the sound of a door opening and footsteps hurrying down the hall broke the moment.

“A year,” Hermione said, slicing the air sharply with her demand as she stood in the doorway, looking pale and unsteady on her feet. “I want you two to stay at least a year. You owe us that much.”

Harry shook his head and closed his eyes wearily. “It doesn’t work like that, Hermione.” He opened his eyes and pinned her with a guilty stare. “The Valar have granted us time here to tell our story, get our affairs in order, and depart. Nothing more.”

“You make it sound like you’re dying,” Hermione retorted angrily, gulping back the tears in her throat. “Why come back here after all these years only to basically die and abandon us again?”

Harry stumbled back, falling against the doorway, as though she had physically slapped him.

Despite himself, knowing better of exactly what incited her words, Harry could feel his own anger and indignation rising at the accusation.

Before he could stop himself, he answered, “But that’s just it, isn’t it?” He brought one hand behind his back to grasp at the doorknob to the foyer. “I’m _not_ going to die, not really in the strictest sense, am I?”

Hermione gulped and Ron’s face grew redder, confirming he had hit the proverbial nail.

“If I stayed, I would not only be abandoning the people of Middle Earth, who I’ve sworn to protect as the Lone Warrior and Prince of Greenwood, but I would be resigning myself to a fate of watching those I love grow old and die around me.

“I’m _not_ human anymore, Hermione. I can _’_ t live like that,” he confessed. “Don’t you understand what you’re asking of me?”

Hermione stood stock still, her bottom lip trembling as she gazed at him with uncomprehending eyes. She seemed adamant not to open her mouth, whether that was to keep herself from crying or because she was too angry to speak, Harry wasn't sure. Still, he could see the tears continuing to fall down her cheeks, following small, barely-there, creases in her face that hadn’t been there ten years ago.

Harry knew he was being harsh, but he also knew it was necessary. Unlike him, Ron and Hermione didn’t have 30-some years to acclimate to the idea of Middle Earth becoming his home, accepting Legolas as his companion and mate, and resigning himself to the fact that he had chosen to go somewhere his friends could never follow.

Knowing they should leave before anything more was said; Harry turned the knob in his hand and opened the door. Turning his face away, he ushered Legolas out onto the quiet street of suburban London.

The beautiful, warm sunshine of that morning had given way to a light drizzle, quickly dampening their clothes as they walked away from the small flat.

A bird was marrying a fox, or so the saying went for sun showers in Greenwood, but Harry felt it more befitting to believe that it was really tears being shed at a proverbial parting.

And he would challenge anyone who dare told him otherwise. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was certainly a long one. 
> 
> It is now official; I have gone from merely editing this story to making some moderately big changes. I just couldn't help myself. 
> 
> I must say, though, this particular chapter was an absolute bear to write and edit, so hopefully you, my dear readers, did not find it too wanting. If you did, share your thoughts and let me know what you think. :)
> 
> Otherwise, thank you so much for reading, reviewing, giving kudos, and sticking with me. It is much appreciated!


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